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swordsandholly · 6 months ago

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Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 5: Night Out

You find yourself squeezed into the center of a round corner booth, Johnny to your left and Kyle to your right with John beside him. The bar is relatively quiet, even for a Saturday night. It is early, though. Plenty of time left in the night for more people to file in. Apparently they go out drinking every third week of the month, a day set aside for them to be together and celebrate another month of success. It’s sweet that they invited you, if not a little nerve wracking - you’re not exactly sure how much they plan on drinking and you’ve been known to be rather… sloppy after one too many.

You nervously adjust your top while Johnny yaps about the equipment sales person with the incredible ass. It’s hard not to squirm being packed in between them, hyper aware of the width of your hips and the size of your arms as they squish against far more toned, muscular limbs. A mean itch in the back of your mind lectures you about taking up too much space - about inconveniencing the people around you. About the optics of the pitiable fat girl tolerated by the handsome men around her.

An elbow to your arm finally knocks you out of your daze. “Och! There he is!”

You blink, following Johnny’s gaze to the man climbing into the booth beside him. It takes your brain a moment to catch up, processing the person in front of you. Your eyes turn to saucers as you realize it’s Simon - signature tattoos, piercings and all - just without his usual surgical mask. It shouldn’t make that much a difference, he still has that low brow and big dark eyes that slide over to you and make your stomach flip…but now you get the addition of his crooked nose, broken more than once and not set right, a small cleft scar leading down to a part of pretty, pink lips that quirk up in the corners when he catches you staring. A few scars scattered across his sharp jaw you hadn’t noticed before and a light layer of blonde stubble around each engraving on his face.

“You’re pretty!?” You gasp, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. You bury your face in your hands while the others (Johnny) burst out in a fit of laughter. Simon’s shoulders shake in that signature, barely audible chuckle as he settles into the booth. Suddenly you feel a little less self conscious about the amount of space you take up in comparison.

John orders a round for everyone. Some light mixers to sip while you talk. You stick to listening, mostly, while the boys talk shop. You pick up a few personal tidbits here and there - specifically about Simon’s apparent sweet tooth as Johnny teases him about going through an entire package of licorice in one sitting. You file that away for later. Apparently John got his start after he enlisted in the military and got several very shitty tattoos during the first couple of years. Dropped out to get an apprenticeship, figuring he could do better. Kyle rolls his eyes, as if he’d heard the tale a few too many times.

“Where ye thinkin’ of lettin’ Kyle ink ye?” Johnny leans in close, breaking out of the group conversation.

You tilit your head. “Haven’t really thought about it. Wherever he’s comfortable, I guess.”

“Givin’ him free reign? Tha��s dangerous, bonnie. Might put it somewhere scandalous.”

“Wouldn’t be the first.” You blurt, regretting it immediately when you see that impish sparkle in his eye.

Johnny dips closer to you, shoulder pressing against yours. “Oh? Thought ye were a good girl, hen.”

“I’ve got a couple you haven’t, and will never get close enough to see, MacTavish.” You laugh.

“Is tha’ a challenge?” He grins, hand just barely ghosting over your thigh.

You shrug, face hot. ”Even if it was, you’d lose.”

There’s probably something deeply wrong with flirting with your coworkers while your boss sits a foot away, but your skin is too warm and your drink tastes to good for you to focus on that fleeing thought for long.

“From the gentleman at the bar.” A woman appears in front of your table, sliding a glass of pink cocktail toward you.

You stare at it before glancing up to meet a pair of dark eyes. He’s handsome, smiles and nods before going back to his own drink. Something cold runs down your spine, the bar warping for only a second. Your lip catches between your teeth before you push it away.

“That’s bold.” John scoffs, a twitch in his brow.

“Not gonnae take a free drink, bon?” Johnny teases, batting at your arm. “He’s no’ half bad lookin’. I’d take a bite.”

“I don’t take drinks from strange men.” You snap, a little harsher than you meant as you push the glass even further. “You can have it if you want.”

There’s a beat where you keep your eyes square on the table, waiting for an insistence that you take it, that you talk to him, that you just do what he wants because he seems nice enough. That you’ve ruined the mood by being sensitive, like you always do. Instead, Johnny grabs the glass and downs whatever fruity cocktail was inside.

“Alright, if I pass out ye have t’ carry me now.” He laughs, the conversation returning to the same pace as before. You just look up at him for a moment - his eyes bright and unwavering.

The more you’re with them, the more guilt you feel for doubting them in moments like this - but, equally, the more unreal they seem. Too perfect of men for you to have stumbled across. Too good for something as damaged as you. There’s a pang of loneliness at the thought.

You’re one again pulled from your thoughts - well, redirected, more like - when John’s arm comes to rest around the back of the booth behind Kyle, fingers brushing against your shoulder ever so slightly. You’d been noticing it more recently - John’s tendency to hover. He doesn’t cling like Johnny but he stays just a hair away. Fingers ghost over your arms and a hand hovers over your back. Sometimes he holds the back of your seat, leaning over you while looking at the appointment book, that wafting scent of leather and petrichor enveloping you.

He doesn’t look at you, talking across the table to Simon about some business thing. At least you think, you really hadn’t been listening. Maybe you should have.

“We should go check out that new place up the street.” Kyle announces, scrolling through his phone. “They’ve got great room for dancin’, apparently.”

“Is dancin’ the mood for the night?” Simon sighs, tilting his head forward. Even without the mask his expression remains placid. Difficult to read.

“Aye!” Johnny wraps an arm firmly around your shoulders. “We’ve got t’ take our little lass out on the town!”

You scoff, cheeks warming at the idea that you’re theirs. Their lass - their girl. Fuck that last drink really good to you, huh?

Johnny walks with an arm sling around Kyle’s waist ahead of you, John laughing and shaking his head at them. Simon hangs back a bit as you walk, taking small, slow steps to stay beside you with his hands in his pockets. The same as when he walks you home every night you close together. You silently revel in the safety of it - of having this massive man in your shadow to block out everything else. You risk glancing up at his face - so new to you despite knowing each other for weeks. His skin glows in the passing street lights.

So not fair that he’s been hiding lips that kissable.

That’s totally the drinks talking.

“Y’alright?” He murmurs, glancing down at you.

You jump a bit, not realizing you’d been staring, eyes wide and hazy. Since when we’re you such a lightweight? “Yeah.”

“Still bothered about that guy?”

You blink. In all honesty, you’d completely forgotten him. Too busy enjoying your time with your boys. Your boys. Your boys. Their girl. That feels really good.

“No.” You shake your head and grin. “Sorry for being weird about it.”

“Y’weren’t.” Simon shakes his head solemnly, lapsing into a comfortable silence as you walk. It’s made up for by Johnny’s forceful cover of Pink Pony Club.

The place is packed when you get there, Simon having to use his bulky form to push through and secure you all a standing table. Not that you really need it, it’s mostly so the four of you can do a few shots - as per Johnny and Kyle’s insistence. Yours too, but it’s more fun to use them as an excuse to down two green tea shots back to back. You’ve never been good at saying no anyway.

“C’mon, luv.” Kyle herds you toward the dance floor and you follow, not unaware of Johnny right at your back. Your head buzzes, the world feeling loose and slow and comfortable around you. That wall you might otherwise have up long gone as you’re safely pinned between two of your favorite boys.

Kyle’s hands trail down your sides to knead at your hips, guiding them to move in tandem with his. Johnny presses closer to your front, hooking your arms up around his neck. If you were any more sober, you might have thought twice about the way you grind back against Kyle and press your chest into Johnny - your coworkers - but as it stands you couldn’t care less. Your body buzzes with a comfortable warmth, the music seems to course through your veins. It’s so easy to let them guide you, to melt into them, to tilt your head back onto Kyle’s chest and grin up at Johnny’s big blue eyes.

It’s the loosest you’ve felt in a long, long time

Johnny says something you can’t hear, his head ducking and lips grazing the shell of your ear. A touch starved part of you wants to whine, to throw yourself into him and burrow into his chest. Bury yourself right between his ribs - surely it’s warm in there. The very sun itself housed where his heart should be.

Maybe you’re reaching the water-only time of the night.

You tilt your head, half-lidded eyes making contact with Simon’s. They’re boring into you, seemingly memorizing the way you three move against each other. Each step and sway stored away for future reference. Surely it’s in your imagination.

Eventually, you shuffle around - trading yourself for Kyle as John’s big hands come to rest respectfully on your waist. The music slows a bit, at least, making it easier to dance with your boss without feeling like you’re crossing a boundary. Not that you would mind crossing that boundary. You’d leap over it if you could - those pretty blue eyes smiling down at you in the multicolor bar light. Leather and petrichor fill your nose. There’s a spice to it that isn’t usually there. Your drunkenness sets your fingers alight as they trace up his strong arms to rest on his shoulders.

“Glad y’came tonight, dove.” John says, barely having to shout over the music. His voice just has that commanding timber to it that makes itself heard no matter the circumstance.

You give him a crooked grin. “Me too.”

John just hums, swaying you carefully. People don’t do this, a small part of you thinks. Don’t dance with their bosses. You look down to where you’re pressed together. It feels good, though. You wonder if you’re more to him than an employee - if he considers you a friend despite your inequalities of age and rank.

“Is it silly to say that I’m really happy?” You mutter, not expecting John to hear over the music.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, dipping lower so you can hear him more clearly. “I’m very grateful that we get to have you.”

Somehow your face gets hotter and in an attempt to calm down you glance over his shoulder to where Simon still stands, leaned against the wall with a glass in hand. His eyes rake over the crowd, sometimes resting on Johnny and Kyle, sometimes you and John, sometimes they seem to just look off into the distance. A woman walks up to him. She’s pretty. Tall with dark hair. You can’t see her face - can’t tell what she says. A slimy, nosy little part of you doesn't like it, despite having no right to an opinion. Simon’s expression remains flat as he responds and she stomps away.

You turn back to John. “Does Simon not dance?”

John chuckles. “Rarely.”

You pout. “I hate that he’s all alone.”

“He’s fine, love. Promise.”

“I’m gonna ask him.”

“Good luck.” John laughs, letting you push your way out of the crowd as the current song comes to an end.

“Si!” You call loudly over the music, movements sloppy.

“Hm?” He cocks a brow.

You lock your hands around his wrist like a child trying to pull their parent toward some bright thing that caught their eye. He doesn’t pull away like a more sober you might expect. “Come dance with me!”

“I don’t dance.” He scoffs.

“Please?” You beg, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Not nearly as effective as Johnny’s but they’ll have to do.

“No.” Even in your drunken state you notice the corner of his mouth quirk up before he forces it back down.

“You can’t stand over here all night!”

“Watch me.” Simon huffs.

You pout and let your fingers drift over his forearm, all muscle and so very vascular. His skin is warm under your hands, the ridges of scars dancing across the pads of your fingers - invisible to the eye under his tattoos.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to do what you like to do!” You say with a discerning nod, clambering up onto the stool at the table beside him.

He frowns. “Don’t let me take you away-“

“I don’t wanna leave you alone!” You continue to pout, the cotton in your head only making things fuzzier outside of your new single minded goal: Hang Out with Simon.

He looks you over for a moment, something passing through those dark eyes of his. They’re so mysterious - so deep. Like the Mariana Trench. That’s the really big one, right?

Simon sighs and downs the last of whatever golden drink was in his glass, setting it on the table beside you. “Fine. I’ll give you one song.”

You’re practically preening as you pull him into the crowd, hand firmly around his thick wrist. Part of you briefly acknowledges a few jabs from Johnny and Kyle as you pass them on their way toward the bar.

A squeak escapes you as Simon suddenly turns you around, pulling you close and leading you to the beat. He’s good. Weirdly good. You feel a bit like a floundering fish all of a sudden. It definitely doesn’t help that you’re a lot more drunk than you felt five minutes ago. He smells like spice, too.

“So much for can’t dance!” You laugh.

“I said I don’t dance, bird. Nothin’ about can’t.” An arm loops around your waist, suddenly twisting to dip you low - holding your weight so easily. You fall into a giggling fit, face hot as you playfully push at his chest.

As the night goes on, things get fuzzier. Blurred. There’s one last shot with Johnny and Kyle and all you know is an overwhelming sense of joy.

A/N: Don’t love love this part but it’s cute and this is supposed to be my easy to write fic so I’m not stressing about it. Suuuuper excited for the next couple parts tho🤭

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recareels · 7 months ago

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something ‘bout you

character: professor!alhaitham

genre: smut ; modern university au set in teyvat

notes: waaaah it’s finally finished!!! i have no idea how this piece got to be as long as it did but alas, here we are. this has got to be the longest blow job i’ve ever written ehehehe. as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: dangerous woman by ariana grande

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, praise, professor/graduate student relationship, sir kink, face fucking, cum swallowing, a teeny tiny bit of manipulation, lying via omission, reader is a film and linguistics student, a bit of academic jargon but nothing crazy or crucial, dom/sub dynamics

words: 8k

synopsis:

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers. He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning. “Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?” Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights. The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea. He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes. “I want you,” you admit instead.

The banquet hall is small yet elegant, beige walls warmed by the fuchsia beams of the setting sun, streaming in thick strips through the floor-to-ceiling crystal windows. Silverware clinks delicately against fine china, glass champagne flutes clacking with front teeth as lips wrap around the edges, daintily mingling with the soft murmur of voices blanketing the room.

Such is the life of a University of Sumeru elite.

Classes don’t officially begin until Monday, but the entire graduate faculty of the Department of Linguistics had been invited to a prefatory mixer held at one of the grand hotels in the city.

It is a long-standing tradition, the email invite had informed you, that the professors and supervisors of the department throw the graduate students—new and old—an intimate yet extravagant start-of-the-year dinner.

It’s mostly meant for new students—only five accepted into the program per year—to introduce themselves to their colleagues and supervisors, becoming familiar with the faces they’ll be seeing for the next one-to-five years of their lives.

You had been special enough to receive an acceptance letter into the PhD program, travelling from your Masters program in Liyue to the city of Sumeru to study under some of the most renowned scholars of the subject.

And so now you stand, lingering near the immaculately organized table of hors d’oeuvres and fidgeting with the crystal flute between your palms, index finger absentmindedly tracing the rim as eager, interested eyes sweep across the room again, soaking up the atmosphere.

You have worked so hard to get here, to get to this point, to stand in this room with the gilt-edged supremes of the scholastic world and be one of them—a part of this exclusive, highly-coveted club composed of the outstanding, the superior, the royals of academia.

A large, smooth hand yanks you, rough and abrupt, from your appreciative daydream, blinking rapidly as you stare up at the man who is unexpectedly talking to you—talking at you—as if he knows you well, already mid-sentence about the legend of King Deshret by the time your shock dissipates, concentration tuning into his frequency.

“—And that’s why he went mad.”

Teal eyes hold yours, steady and intent and willing you not to look away, the fingers wrapped firmly around your bicep flexing the moment your stare begins to stray, watching through your peripheral vision as a man with white hair and rust eyes passes by, features set in hard stone.

It is only after the man is out of earshot that your captor relaxes, fingers loosening but not fully releasing their grip on your flesh.

“Thanks for that,” he says, suddenly sounding disinterested and distracted, gaze flitting around the room.

“Was that true?”

“What?” he looks back over at you, as if he’s surprised you just spoke to him.

“Was that true?” you repeat. “I thought that since Nabu Malikata had warned him of the repercussions of the ritual prior to them performing it that he knew she’d die—that he knew she had chosen to die—and went mad with guilt due to him choosing his own selfish desires over the love of his life.”

He shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of his scotch. “A common misconception, often due to mistranslations and the incorrigible feelings of the translators themselves. Romantics, you know,” he shrugs, head tilting as he observes you, bright yet sharp eyes studying your face in slow, excruciating detail, as he he’s trying to divest your thoughts through your features. “Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the department before.”

Razored teal glints like a scalpel as it attempts to dissect you, his scintillating gaze carefully shaving away at any pretences.

“I am,” you confirm with a nod, struggling to suppress the pride tugging at the corners of your lips as you introduce yourself. “One of the three lucky souls to have been accepted as a PhD Candidate.”

“Nice to meet you,” the man murmurs, giving your arm another little squeeze in greeting before finally releasing it. “I’m Haitham. Alhaitham, if you want to be formal, but Haitham is fine.”

His body relaxes, shoulders no longer pinched, muscles no longer coiled as he gets more comfortable, leaning against a large column, his stance becoming permanent.

“So, tell me. Where did you complete your Masters?”

Your heart thumps against your ribs, pushing hard breath up your throat, nerves suddenly buzzing beneath the swelter of his intense stare, fighting the urge to shrink away from his fulgurous attention.

“Liyue,” you say. “I studied under the guidance of Professor Zhongli.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow in lazy intrigue, notes of condescension glazing his tone, a small smirk adoring his lips. “That’s impressive.”

“You know him?”

“Everybody in the academic world knows him, sweetheart. I’m sure you know that, as well.”

Bashful heat seeps into your cheeks, tingling little pinpricks of embarrassment sprouting beneath your skin.

“Well, I just—”

“Please,” Alhaitham cuts your off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The man is a master in several subjects; there’s not a chance anyone who is a true scholar hasn’t encountered and studied his work. What did you study beneath him?”

“Um,” you begin, wincing at how idiotic it sounds, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “I wrote my thesis under his supervision. During my undergrad I majored in linguistics and specialized in cinema studies, so naturally my thesis aimed at analyzing and dissecting the role and importance of language in film—more specifically, how particular language conveys meaning and impacts the psychology of the viewer, as well as how particular language influences, dictates and affects the way a viewer derives meaning from the piece.”

“Wow,” Alhaitham breathes, and for the first time tonight he sounds genuinely impressed, sincerely interested, notes of intrigue imbuing his tone. “I’d love to read it, if you’ll allow me.”

“Of course,” you preen, the pressure on your lungs letting up a little beneath his praise. “It took me nearly two years to complete, and under Professor Zhongli’s supervision I was even able to conduct field studies and experiments to gather information and data.”

“Is that so?” his smirk grows into a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with supercilious amusement. “Like what?”

“As I’m sure you’re well aware of, how a certain character speaks and the words they use says a lot about who they are and where they hail from, but that’s only half the equation. The other half depends on the viewer themselves—their own background, upbringing, experiences, beliefs, and intelligence all influence the way they will perceive and derive meaning from an individual film. The research concluded that, based on these factors, two individuals from separate classes more often than not arrive at substantially different meanings of the information provided from the same film.”

“Well done,” he murmurs, appreciative, and you can’t help but glow beneath his words, his commendation a beam of nurturing sunlight, drawing you closer to his heat.

“Thank you,” you say, bowing your head respectfully. “And what about you? Are you a student?”

He laughs, bright and warm, almost as if your mistake is cute.

“No, no, I am a Professor.”

“What do you teach?”

“Syntactic Patterns in Ancient Runes, and Advanced Morphology,” he says easily. “Speaking of which, will you be TAing any classes this year?”

“I will! Though I have not yet been approved to teach my own class, only tutorials for the first years. Understandable, I guess, since I’m a new student and all.”

Your disappointment is palpable, hanging thick and heavy in the air, and his demeanour softens a little, a warm hand clasping over your shoulder.

“Cheer up,” he says. “I’m positive they’ll give you your own lecture the moment you hit your third year—those positions are usually reserved to upper-year PhD’s.” The tips of his fingers press into your muscles in a comforting massage, and you can’t help but lean into his touch a little, body deliquescing. “Which class will you be TAing for?”

“Intro to Linguistics: Sentence Structure and Meaning,” you make a face, the thought sobering you slightly. “By the way, would you happen to know who’s teaching that class this year? There’s no professor listed on the website yet, but if they’re here I’d love to introduce myself.”

Something darkens his eyes, his smile turned wolfish, a shock of unease unravelling slow and sticky in the pit of your belly.

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” he says dismissively, though there’s a shard of something submerged in teal irises, sharp and dangerous, glimmering beneath crystal lights. “He’s a jackass anyway. Antisocial, selfish, you know the type. Introducing yourself to him wouldn’t make much of a difference—he isn’t a fan of those overeager polite types, not unless they’re genuine.”

“Oh,” you frown, deflating a little, ignoring the ice prickling at the base of your spine. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to be on good terms with him.”

“I don’t think anyone’s on good terms with him,” Alhaitham mutters dryly, eyes narrowing as they sweep across the room, almost accusing in manner. “But who knows,” he says as he looks back at you, hard gaze palliating just a touch. “You might be the one to change that.”

Confusion sprouts across your face, features crinkling as you draw in a breath to inquire, but a booming voice cuts you off, briskly announcing that it is time for dinner and requesting everyone take their seats.

“Here,” Alhaitham murmurs as slim fingers cuff your wrist, leading you. “Come sit with me.”

The dinner is several courses long, but you hardly remember any of them, too caught up in teal eyes and a velvet voice, in the hand that has found it’s way onto you knee, thumb stroking the bone in rhythmic motions through your tights, in the ankles currently tangled around your own, tightening every so often and hauling you a little bit closer—any time you say something that procures that amused little sound, playing on the back of his tongue; any time you say something that raises his brows and leaves his eyes shimmering, head tilted cutely in curious study.

The conversation flows seamlessly as the night passes, as servers bring and remove plates, as guests mingle around the ballroom, arriving to and departing from your table—but the two of you don’t dare move an inch, entirely captivated by your intimate discussion; heads bowed, legs locked, words murmured between the steadily dissipating space between your mouths.

He tells you about his most recent excavation into the long lost tomb of a prince, about the runes he found intricately engraved on the gorgeous sarcophagus, about what they said and how they fit into his most recent collection of essays—highly coveted information, he had mentioned, sure to note he hadn’t told anyone about this; not until tonight, not until you, his voice taking on a slight air of incredulity, as if he can’t believe he just revealed such information so easily.

You tell him about the research Zhongli personally funded after you were nearly expelled from the program for sneaking into the film reel archives despite being explicitly denied access—all in the pursuit of knowledge, of course, you had bristled with a roll of your eyes, insisting that such important pieces should not be so inaccessible to scholars—and of the many trips your valued Professor took you on, traversing film festivals across the whole of Inazuma.

He tells you about his childhood in Sumeru, about what got him interested in semiotics and linguistics, about the first language he learned—and about how his grandmother taught him, eyes gone soft with fondness for the since passed woman.

You tell him about your childhood in Fontaine, about scraped knees and local theatre and sparkling blue water, about your favourite Fontainian film movements and how they first sparked your passion for the performing arts.

“I don’t know anything about Fontainian Neorealism or the Fontaine New Wave,” he admits, “but I do know that Sumeru has a flourishing arts and culture sector—and I assume that’s why you’ve chosen to study here. Am I correct?”

“You are,” you nod with a small smirk, sipping on red wine. “It is exceptionally difficult to study Sumeru’s robust art history without actually being here. All I know are the things I’ve read in books—which are not nearly a suitable substitute for experiencing it with your own eyes.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “Let’s make a deal, then.”

“A deal?”

“A trade, of sorts,” he begins, smirking when you blink twice in curiosity. “I’ll take you to a performance at Zubayr Theater, and you take me to see a Fontainan film. Sound fair?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

A small smile graces his lips, wispy at the edges, a peculiar sentiment sparkling in his gaze. “It’s a date, then.”

And you can’t help the fizzy feeling that starts to froth in your veins at the word, at the promise of seeing him again, of spending more uninterrupted time with him, just the two of you.

It must show on your face in some way, must be evident in the sweet, girlish giggle that bubbles uncontrollably past your lips, because his smile stretches, still soft, and he chuckles gently, nothing more than a huff of breath on his tongue.

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

The palm cupping your knee is hot and heavy, his grasp flexing with his response, staying itself for a moment before it slides up your thigh, slow and careful and appraising, thumb stopping a millimeter shy from the hem of your short black dress.

Keen teal eyes stay trained on your face, focused in their evaluation, ready to analyze any slight change in expression his action may elicit.

But you only lean closer, legs spreading an inch or so wider, shuffling to the edge of your seat, a silent plea for more.

A silent plea that does not go unnoticed by Alhaitham, as indicated by his small smile, sharp eyes dulling a little with their inquisition and fingers sinking into plush flesh, grip strengthening before relaxing again, the tip of his thumb stroking the material of your dress.

All without a single hitch in his words, swiftly and smoothly moving onto the next topic.

And you only fall further.

You can’t manage to keep your hands to yourself, either, it seems, touch vying and voracious for more of him: playing with the gold bangles encircling his wrist; twisting the gilded jade class ring pressed firmly against his second knuckle; drifting over the back of his hand, a single fingertip outlining the bones and veins contouring his flesh.

He doesn’t appear to mind, though, flipping his hand over to gift you more access, allowing you to trace the lines of his palm with a manicured nail, his fingers spreading wider, presenting more of himself to you as you vividly discuss Metz and how he built his cinematic semiotics theory off of structural linguistics.

His hand is nearly in your lap now, your thighs cushioning one another’s, knees bumping clumsily against the edge of each other’s chairs as you subconsciously try to inch closer, caught up in every fucking thing about him; his viscous voice, cascading over you like melty syrup; his vivid stare, so bright and full of passion it’s practically glowing; his magnificent mind, gears churning at a rapid yet efficient pace, producing ribbons of wisdom, flowing smooth and fluid from his lips, confident and self-assured.

You’re drowning in him, submerging yourself further and further into his presence, more intoxicated by his aura than the wine roiling warm and sweet in your belly. It produces something insatiable, a starved clawing at your chest that grapples for more and more and more of him, every fragment of information you manage to extract doing nothing to satisfy the hunger, instead exacerbating the craving.

You’ve never met anyone like him before; never met anyone so blunt and real and unabashedly themselves, never met anyone so sincerely scholarly, so dedicated to their studies, so zealous in their never-ending pursuit of knowledge.

It’s inspiring; it’s intoxicating.

Alhaitham’s mind is brilliant, beautiful, an ornate maze of thoughts, each one leading to something new, each one unravelling like the petals of a lotus, sparking further debates, remarks, ponders.

You could get lost in here forever, you think—stumbling your way around sharp corners and down twisting corridors, consistently in awe of the next thing you discover.

You must murmur it out to him, dreamy and wine-drunk and wrapped up in him, sentiments streaming seamlessly from your brain to your lips without your permission, because he laughs, the sound mild and tender, his gaze softening.

“Is that so?”

“Mm,” you nod, lazy and languid. “It’s so beautiful, Haitham.”

“I’ve never had anyone call my mind beautiful before,” he muses. “But I think it might be my favourite compliment to receive yet.”

Bubbles of pride tingle behind your ribs, and your chest puffs out a little, spine straightening beneath his praise, murmuring out a little self-satisfied, well, then, you’re welcome.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” he teases, though the notes infusing his voice are playful, his eyes shining as he studies you, cataloging your expressions.

“Yes, Sir,” you confirm. “You’re a hard man to please.”

“Oh, am I?” he snorts, head tilting in question.

“S’not a bad thing,” you continue, words slurred just a touch, heavy with admiration. Dainty hands find his own, your fingers beginning to toy with his, idle and absent-minded as they curl and straighten knuckles.

“No?” he smirks, pinky catching yours in a swift hook. “I mean, you seem to be doing a pretty good job so far.”

“I could do better, if you want me to.”

It’s bold, brash, and entirely unbefitting, but the offer slips from your mouth without thought or consent, startling you in it’s veracity, a jolt of desire zipping through your veins.

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers.

He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning.

“Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?”

Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights.

The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea.

He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes.

Because the desire is too strong, a potent drug infusing your blood and hazing your brain, overwhelming your senses and overriding your better judgement, and you find yourself unable to resist, easily placing blame on the wine and the party and the undeniable allure of this stranger, instead of your own ravenous craving.

“I want you,” you admit instead, the confession oozing from between pouted lips, stark with it’s honesty, unapologetic with your longing.

Alhaitham laughs, low and smooth, watching you through thick, fanned lashes.

“How do you want me?”

He’s playing with you now, a hawk toying with his food between razored talons, forcing his prey to go exactly where he wants it to.

You can’t find it in yourself to care.

“However you’ll give you to me,” you respond, brazen but sincere, glassy eyes wide and captivating his own.

Teal searches your face for a moment, pries apart your features in search of falsities and finds nothing but unadulterated candour, so sheer it boarders on pathetic.

“All right,” he finally says, hand smoothing along your wrist to press your palms together, lacing your fingers with his and giving a gentle tug. “Come.”

You tread behind him like the sweetest little kitten, inebriated galaxies swirling in your irises, desperate and obedient and eager for your treat.

But you’re just a touch too impatient, it seems.

Because he barely makes it to the washroom, free hand on the doorknob, intending to throw one last glance back at you—one final confirmation, are you sure? written in the motion—before you’re surging forward, soft palms cushioning a defined jaw, dainty fingers hooking behind the hinges and yanking, crushing his lips to yours.

It isn’t graceful in the slightest, a rough mangle of tongues and teeth, incisors catching on lips and canines scraping slick muscle, but Alhaitham recalibrates quickly enough, large hands curling around your hips and pulling you to his form.

The door to the men’s washroom swings open as your knotted bodies fall through it, hinges loose and creaky, the metal handle slamming against the tiled wall, the resounding bang! bouncing throughout the room.

The stumbling of your footsteps echoes around you, obnoxious smacking of lips and slurping of tongues amplified by the open space as you gulp down his breathy little chuckle, the sound warm and tingling as it spills down your throat.

A tangled mess of legs and limbs, you fall into the first available stall, rickety door whacking off the side, the lock jingling from the force.

He allows you to crowd him into a corner, hinges of the flimsy door tinkering again as your legs slotting together and your tongues grind, tips teasing each other in curling little licks, catching one another and then slipping away, tracing the ridges of teeth, burrowing into the divots of cheeks.

A strong hand stays wrapped around your neck, nails just barely nipping your skin as he grips you in place, his other hand busying itself with a palmful of your ass, fingertips planting bruises into soft flesh.

A responding hiss slithers from your mouth into his, the sound massed on his tongue, the muscle folding around it and sucking, savouring your pain until it melts into his flesh.

Your hands are indecisive, traversing the buttons of his shirt and the loops of his trousers until, finally, they find his belt, fingers eager and vying as they pick at the heavy buckle, and he snorts.

“It’s cute, how utterly desperate you are,” he mumbles into the kiss, slippery mouths sliding together, leavings streaks of saliva painted across chins.

You are desperate, too desperate, and if you were of sound mind you’d be rightfully embarrassed of such behaviour, pawing at him like some impatient teenager, pathetically aching for more of him.

But the wine and the glamour and Alhaitham’s intoxicating taste—cedar wood and mint, cloaked by expensive scotch—has cast a murky cloud over your brain, stuffing your skull full of nothing but ardour, dulling all of your senses, honing all of your needs, to him, him, him.

The thigh wedged between your own, sculpted from strong, lean muscle, flexes twice, hitching up further into your core, a pitchy mewl spilling onto his tongue as a reward. You can feel his cock, hot and hard and pressed tightly against your hip, rutting into you in small, uneven little motions, dense heat sprawling, slow and sticky, in the pit of your tummy.

“God, you’re already making such a fucking mess,” he nearly moans into your mouth, thigh tensing again in emphasis, cotton doused in slick arousal. “And I’ve barely even touched you. I guess you really do want me, don’t you?”

And although his words are teasing, imbued with notes of playful mocking, his tone is sweet, almost as if he’s in awe of how honest you were.

“S’bad,” you whimper, tongue sketching out the curve of his cupid’s bow. “So bad.”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he pants, a hand wreathing around your jaw, keeping your stare trapped in his. “Tell me what you want.”

The demand is damp as it drifts across your face, scalding little pinpricks erupting beneath your skin, paired with a low whine of embarrassment. His gaze is too vehement, eyes wide and unblinking as they impel you, your own lids squeezing shut in the face of such fervour.

“Ah!” the hand clamped around your jaw tightens. “Open them. Look at me, and tell me what you want. You’re a big girl, I know you can do it.”

It almost hurts to look at him, another bout of humiliation flushing through your veins as you squint, features twisted up in a wince.

“C’mon,” he goads, fingertips thrumming against you cheek once in a fluent wave. “Where’s that big beautiful brain gone now? You were so eloquent at dinner.”

“I—I wanna ride your cock!” you nearly sob, the profession a stringy plead shoved from your tongue, tangled in threads of saliva. “I really wanna ride your cock.”

“Aw, how precious,” he clicks his tongue, as if it’s such a shame, words filtered through a slight faux pout. “Too bad naughty girls don’t get to ride my cock.”

“Wh-What?” you blink, tears beading at the corners of your eyes, just barely caught in outer lashes. “Naughty?”

And, oh, the smile that spreads across his cheeks is downright sinister, eyes flashing with levity.

“Do good girls put their hands all over a stranger’s cock?” he tilts his head, that shiny sliver in his iris catching in the light. “Does that not qualify as misbehaviour to you?”

“But—But I—I’m good!”

The response is automatic, barreling up your throat and out your mouth before you have a moment to seize it, a fierce need to prove yourself igniting behind your ribs, eyebrows knit cutely as you stare at him, eyes beseeching despite your bratty tone.

“Are you?” he raises a brow, eyes hard, but mirth plays with the corners of his lips. “Your behaviour thus far says otherwise.”

“I am!”

Your gaze steadily holds his own, daring, challenging, insistent, your features scrunched up in a stubborn petulance.

“All right, prove it to me,” he says after a beat, exhaling an amused little huff. “Show me you’re a good girl and suck my cock.”

And that’s all the encouragement you need, really, desperate to prove yourself worthy and capable as you slide down his body, knees on his toes, lidded stare never breaking contact with his own—heavy, dark, starving.

His collarbone, sharply prominent and peeking out from beneath his shirt lapels, heaves a little with his laboured breaths, the faintest sheen of sweat beginning to lacquer the bones, catching delicately in the fluorescent light.

Nosing along the impressive bulge straining against his trousers, you hum a little in appreciation, trailing hot, humid kisses up the length in a haphazard outline. A hushed giggle vibrates in your throat as his cock jumps beneath your touch, begging for what Alhaitham would never dare to, tongue unfurling from your mouth to roll, slow and hard, over the clothed head.

The slick muscle wraps itself around the tip as best it can, wet heat seeping through his pants as your tongue siphons his cock into your mouth, lips closing around the head and suckling, hard.

A breath snares on his sternum, his hips twitching once in complement, chased by a low, alluring chuckle.

“Huh,” he says to himself, though the letters are breathless. “I didn’t know good girls were little teases…”

The implication is not lost on you, and you roll your eyes, grumbling out a muffled no fun into his groin before your fingers immediately get to work—button popped, zipper tugged, knuckles curled in the elastic waistbands, hauling his pants and briefs midway down his thighs.

His cock is just as gorgeous as he is, thick and velvety and twined with pulsing veins that surge and swell the moment they’re wrapped in your tongue.

It’s impossible to silence the pathetic whimper of appreciation that spills from your throat the moment his cock is free, massive and magnificent, and you can’t resist nuzzling your cheek into it in admiration, catlike, the flushed head leaving a fat streak of pre-cum painted just below your eye.

A curse pries its way past his lips, fading into a breathy exhale, his fingers latching beneath your jaw and tilting your face to his, taking a moment to cherish the sight.

You look so beautiful stained with him—glistening pre-cum dashed across your check in a perfect stripe; lips swollen and licked raw, shimmering with his spit—and he can’t help but stare, ravenous pupils having gnawed away at teal irises, desperate to soak up as much of the scene as physically possible, leaving nothing more than a thin ring to outline the orbs.

His thumb swipes through the sticky substance, rubs it into your skin until it’s gone dry, seeped into the tissues and absorbed completely, and your neck strains a little, yearning to present more of your cheek to him, offering.

Another second or two passes as he grants himself one final moment of marvel, before his fingers release your head, a non-verbal command to continue.

And you obey flawlessly, instantly.

A dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock, tongue darting from between raw lips to lap kittenishly at the head, flattening along the curve and dragging twice in unhurried succession before digging the point into his slit, procuring another pretty pearl of pre-cum, oozing enticingly to adorn the tip.

It’s so dense, so bloated it looks mere moments away from dropping, your tongue stretching out far and wide in a precursory measure, ready to catch it when it falls. And it does, only a beat later, dripping slow and gross into your waiting mouth in a single strand, thick and viscid.

A hefty moan resounds in your throat as it seeps into your tastebuds, his flavour bitter and strong, fluttering lashes framing rolling whites.

The noise that splinters in his throat is strained, yearning beneath a heavy hedonism, and his fingers tighten in your hair, a subtle caution. Smirking, your glance up at him again, sinful tongue laving lasciviously over your puffy lips, yet your eyes are not bratty, instead glittering with such potent awe it almost hurts, like he’s some sort of veneered saint, exalt pouring from your gaze.

It crushes down on his chest, flattens his lungs and makes it difficult to draw in breath, oxygen stalling in his throat, the urge to yank you up and kiss the goddamn life out of you near unbearable as it tears at his chest. But he comes back to his senses, restraint held intact by a single spider silk thread, a dull, distant voice in the back of his skull reminding him of your task, of your lesson.

You seem to know, too.

No words need to be spoken, no warnings need to be issued, the hand around the base of his cock flexing slightly as it readjusts its grip, feeding him to yourself, taking him inch by inch down your eager throat.

“S’it,” he encourages as he watches you, eyes lidded and hazy with lust. “That’s it, baby, take as much of it as you can for me.”

The incentive, haunted by the ghost of potential praise if you succeed, only makes you more avid in your quest, throat stretching around his girth as you stuff it full of his cock, reflexes instinctively attempting to push him from the gummy column, constricting as you gag around the head.

It’s hard to know what he likes—how fast, how deep, how rough and filthy—but from the limited information you’ve gathered tonight, you can infer that he isn’t a fan of teasing; at least, not when he’s the one being teased.

“A little more,” he instructs, but the command is gentle, a thumb skimming along the line of your jaw, hinges straining as you immediately submit, mouth opening wider, throat sexpanding further as you take more of him, more for him.

“Fuck, look at that,” he pants out, thumb caressing your jaw again before his palm cups beneath your chin, tilting your head up, the action inadvertently forcing his cock farther down your throat. “You’re so good.”

Blinking twice in response, you stare up at him, irises encrusted with stars of worship, their shine unhindered by the bleary gloss of reflexive tears that have already begun to collect, lashes clumped into soaked spikes, just barely keeping the torrent at bay.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt more respected, revered, in his entire life.

Another blink—a quick beating of lashes—sends crystalline dewdrops flowing down your cheeks, the softest sniffle, half-stifled, shuddering delicately around his cock.

“H-Hah,” he breathes out, an involuntary little sound pulled from deep within his chest, your agape mouth working itself open greater, lips stretching over his bulk.

He holds you still for a moment, takes time to admire such a pretty sight, hips jolting slightly, eyes watching as the bulge in your throat jumps, as you choke around him but don’t dare push him away, instead squeezing the base of his cock, attempting to jam it down even more. Your chin juts forward in a futile attempt to aid, salacious squelching echoing throughout the bathroom as you swallow, hard and with conviction, trying to lead him further into your body.

The back of his knuckle swipes through a stream of glittering salt, collecting your tears on his skin and bringing it to his mouth, tongue washing over it slowly, savouring your taste.

And you wait.

How very good of you.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he finally says as he releases his grip, permitting you to take control again. “Show me how much of me you can take down your throat.”

And, really, that’s all of the enticement you need, head beginning to move the instant he demands it, mouth gliding down his shaft, slow and steady, until the tip of your nose just barely brushes your second knuckle. A pause, a mere millisecond for him to feel your throat convulse, before you’re pulling back up, lips puckering as they tighten around his shaft, glazing his flesh in a thin, shimmering film of saliva.

Each stroke of your mouth has your pace accelerating, opting to keep your fist wrapped firmly at the base of his cock to steady it instead of allowing it to follow the trajectory of your lips.

It grows sloppy quick, your spit-soaked hand readjusting it’s slippery grip as your upper lip repeatedly bashes into it, the threads of saliva keeping your mouth and finger connected snapping each time your lips reach his head, nearly pulling off of his cock completely before your mouth sinks down again

“Yeah, yeah, there you go,” he grunts out, words torn around the edges, breathing raw and ragged. “Good girl, my perfect girl, doing so well for me.”

A whine reverberates around his cock, your legs spreading slightly as your back bows and your neck arches, an ambitious attempt to take more of him, throat gaping and split open, drenched cunt grinding into the toe of his polished shoe.

He groans a little, the sound tapering off into something choked and broken, his hips stuttering forward and involuntarily plunging his entire length down your throat, body retching at the abrupt intrusion.

And suddenly, all of this isn’t exactly enough for you.

Because while you can nearly fit all of him down your throat on your own, and while he seems to be more than satisfied with your progress, there’s still an inch or so that you’re missing, palm curled around it in a manner that’s almost protective, and you want to take all of him.

You want to prove that you can take all of him, for him.

A thick, milky string of spit and pre-cum dangles and droops heavily in the space between your lips and his cock as you peel your mouth from his shaft entirely, wrecked little coughs furling on your tongue, eyes wet and wide and full of reverence as you look up at him, imploring.

With a little effort, he hefts his lids open from their sedative state, staring down at you with glazed, gluttonous pupils, head tilting a little in inquiry.

“I want you to fuck my throat, Sir,” you rasp out in explanation, voice rough and raw, request grating against your throat. “Please, fuck my throat, Sir, please.”

The plead is garbled, drooled out from the corners of your mouth curled in copious drivels of foamy spit, collecting on your chin and dripping off your jaw in viscous glass cords.

Chest heaving with ragged breath, he watches as drool drizzles across your collarbone and exposed bosom, sticky and sloppy. You’re making such a mess—he’s making such a mess of you, and you’re so willing, so unwavering, raring for more.

“Fuck,” he nearly whines out, the curse cracked.

Deft fingers grip your face, blunt nails biting into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, an attempt to get a better look at you.

“Yeah?” he breathes, the word drifting across your face, eyes hunting after it in an almost rabid manner. “You want Sir to fuck your mouth?”

A whimper vibrates on your tongue, head nodding as best it can in his firm grasp.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, wanna take as much of you as possible, Sir; wanna take all of you, Sir; wanna be so good for you, Sir,” your head quirks a little, nuzzling into his touch. “Please, help me, help me show you how good I can be.”

Your confession is molten and dreamy, flowing from your lips in one thick, continuous stream, your eyes limpid, desperate with the desire to please.

“Though you’ve proven you are capable of doing it on your own, it’s precious that you’re asking for my help.”

A hum of contemplation rumbles in his chest, head tilting in observation, his scrutinizing gaze framed by heavy lids, eyes now slow and steady as they search your face.

“You need Sir to guide you, huh?” he’s asking as his other hand replaces your own, wrapping around the base of his cock and giving it two good, quick pumps before bringing the head to your lips, mouth obediently dropping open, a sound of confirmation playing on the back of your tongue.

Yes, yes, you’re nodding, tongue curling in the air a little, almost as if enticing him closer.

“No, not need,” he revises, smudging a thin stroke of pre-cum across your waiting, urgent tongue. “Want. Isn’t that right?”

It’s true—you don’t technically need his assistance, could manage perfectly well on your own the task of sucking him off and stuffing your throat with his cum, but you want his aid; want to show him that not only can you succeed, but you can surpass.

“Please,” you whimper, the word a distortion trembling against the tip of his cock. “Please, help me be the very best for you, Sir.”

Something sharp flashes in his pupils, hungry and craving and full of teeth, his chest stuttering with it—a growl he snuffs out, strangles in his throat before it can grow into a coherent response, replaced with a simple nod.

“All right, all right, baby,” he’s pacifying as you take his cock down your throat again, the hinges of your jaw straining as your mouth stretches around him. “Sir will help you out this time.”

A mewl of thanks vibrates around his cock as he threads himself down your throat, his hips jerking once, fast and short, a matching whimper spilling from his lips.

Delicate fingers curl in his waistband and tug a little, begging him to fuck deeper, and he concedes, groaning out breathy praise as your nose presses into that neat smattering of curls adorning his pubic bone, lips kissing the root of his shaft.

“Christ,” he whines, hips thrusting forward a hint further as he leans back against the stall wall to get a better view, your throat tightening around him with the action. “So fucking gorgeous.”

The stuffed full column of your throat ripples around him as you swallow with conviction, a greedy attempt to garner him even deeper into you, his shaft swollen and protruding in your neck. Tear-lacquered eyes close briefly, forcing streams of crystal to leak from the corners as you nuzzle into his groin again, the laudatory action causing gummy walls to spasm around his cockhead.

“F-Fuck,” the curse fragments on his tongue, head tipping back against the flimsy stall wall, angular jaw and Adam’s apple on display. “Look at you, so full of me.”

There isn’t any more time to admire, though, as idle chatter, muffled and indistinct, seeps under the heavy washroom door, yanking both of you from the heavenscape you had conjointly created and shocking you with a bitter dose of reality.

There’s no warning after that, the brute reminder of the steadily encroaching public entirely shattering whatever trance the two of you had been enveloped in, Alhaitham’s hips snapping sudden and sharp, fucking your throat with a renewed vigour.

Your grip on his slacks tightens, knuckles curling over the waistband in a feeble attempt to help him, to pull him even closer, jaw wrenched open even wider as his hips work, so fucking dedicated to him, to pleasing him, despite the pang beginning to settle deep within the hinges.

It’s rough, and sloppy, and so fucking hot, scalding saliva smeared all over him—coating his thighs and dribbling down his balls and soaking the matted curls at the base of his cock, slippery and sticky and stained with you.

“Doing so—so fucking good for me,” he pants out, pace never faltering. “My perfect little toy.”

Something mangled and muted sounds in your throat, another pair of tears cascading down your cheeks and streaking them with pretty gleaming trails.

It hurts, your throat burning and fucked raw with every ram of his cock, your lungs beginning to shrivel as he smothers your breath, routinely shoved back down in time with the piston of his hips, chest swelling painfully beneath the backlog of unreleased air.

Hiccups splutter around him as you desperately try to draw in tiny gulps through your nose, the fluttering of your throat eliciting another hoarse groan, tumbling from his lips.

The ache in your jaw has radiated across your face now, a pounding in your temples keeping flawless rhythm with Alhaitham’s thrusts, a twinging in your cheeks weighing heavy on the bones, creeping into your sinuses.

Yes, it all hurts so very much, but you take it all for him, just like a good little girl is supposed to, just like he asked, just like you promised you would—dutiful, doting, devoted.

And even though his hips are ruthless, avid in their chase to catch his impending high, his grip is tender, the knuckles rooted against your skull firm but not painful as they hold your head in place, his thumbs massaging soothing little circles along your hairline.

You’re weeping around him now, a potent concoction of drool and tears trickling off your tongue in viscid strings, the slick muscle curled flush around the underside of his shaft, protecting sensitive skin from the edges of sharp teeth.

A dull pain is beginning to seep into the tip of your nose, no doubt a response to the constant collision of your face into his pelvis, and you can feel the early formations of a bruise, fragile capillaries busted open from the consistent blunt force.

“Oh, Christ,” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before springing back open, gazing down at you with fervour. “M’gonna—ah, ah—” his hips judder, thumbs pressing into the sides of your head, steadying his grasp. “M’gonna cum, and I want you to—f-fuck—to swallow it all, y’here me? Don’t waste a single fucking drop.”

And, well, you’re nothing if not unwaveringly obedient.

Two more drives of his cock, rough and rapid, and then he’s forcing hot, thick cum down your throat, stuffing the column full with his potent seed.

It’s so much, too much, and you sputter around him, the syrupy substance overflowing back up your throat and into your mouth to seep, slow and sticky, past the tight seal of your mouth.

But he helps you with that, too, holding your head still and pressing your face tightly to his pubic bone, ensuring that his cum shoots straight down your throat as his cock continues to throb weakly, weighting your tongue.

And you, obedient little girl that you are, devour all of it, even the few stray dollops of cream that managed to escape your mouth and roll down his balls, tongue curling hungrily around them and sopping up the remnants with gentle sucking.

Truly, you did not waste a single fucking drop.

And he’s so proud of you.

“C’mere, precious,” he’s breathing out once he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, releasing his grip on your skull and hoisting you up, strong hands hooked beneath your armpits.

He hauls you to your feet in one fluid movement, pliant legs struggling to find stable footing on the tiled floor, and props you up against his body, supporting you. Those big hands cup your jaw, tilting your face to his, aquamarine flying across your features—quick, but efficient—and surveying the damage.

“You were so perfect,” he murmurs, sowing a smattering of chaste kisses along the top of your head. “You were so, so perfect for me.”

A response hitches in your throat, mangled by the sob desperately attempting to claw past it, and Alhaitham frowns, concern creasing his forehead.

“Hey, you okay? Huh?” gentle palms tip your head up even further, thumbs killing tears as they swipe over your cheekbones. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“M’fine, Sir,” you croak out, voice ruined but eyes filled with reverence. “Th-Thank you for giving me your cum.”

The worry saturating his features is eradicated in an instant, eroded by tender awe, his lips twitching into a small smile as his eyes sweep across your face again—slower, this time, more deliberate, appreciative—thumbs continuing their soft caress.

The sudden shouting of his name decimates any potential response before it has a chance to form in his mouth, a low growl of irritation rumbling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he calls back, the moment the washroom door swings open, effectively halting the perpetrator in their steps. “I’ll be there soon. Give me a moment.”

His voice is hard, stern, cold yet dripping with authority, the meek messenger squeaking out some semblance of acknowledgement before rushing from the room.

You’re still sniffling, cheeks stained with dried, crusty salt, hair mussed and messy, and his frown returns as he looks back at you, his features pinched, reluctance weighing heavy on his form.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am,” you nod in his grasp, finally standing on your own two feet, as if to prove it. “Promise.”

His eyes hold your own for a moment longer, assessing, before he accepts your answer as truth, fingers beginning to fuss with his dishevelled tie.

“All right,” he sighs out the words as he primps, palms smoothing down his shirt, wrinkles casualties from your fingers. “Take your time to regain your bearings.” He looks up, a sardonic grin on his face. “I, unfortunately, have business to attend to. Such is the life of a Sumeru professor.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s such a drag to be faculty at the top university in the world,” you snort.

“Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts,” he retorts, but his smile has softened to something playful. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

“Looking forward to it, Sir.”

“Good.”

He refolds his lapels one last time, squaring his shoulders as he mentally prepares, turning toward the stall door.

“Oh, and uh,” hand curled around the stall handle, he pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder, eyes shining with something mischievous. “Maybe next time you can actually ride my cock, like you wanted to.”

Head quirking, confusion crinkles your brow, your eyes searching his face. Next time?

A smirk spreads across his lips, smug and supercilious.

“See you in class on Monday, Teaching Assistant.”

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hwaslayer · 9 months ago

Text

after hours (jwy) | one shot.

—summary: an invitation to wooyoung’s event leads to the unexpected— a night of revelation that deeply blurs the lines between harmless fun and the thrill of exploring something more.

—pairing: dj!wooyoung x f!reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) fwb to lovers | smut, fluff

—word count: 5k

—content/warnings: cussing/mature language, dj wooyo playing his first club event!, songs in wooyoung’s setlist can get pretty explicit so pls proceed with caution, throwing some ass back at the club lol, alcohol consumption and intoxication, hella chemistry between these two, friends with benefits but with lots of feelings lol, oc x woo are in denial tho hehe, lots of teasing and flirting, kisses, making out, praising, marking, pet names (baby, babygirl, love), unprotected sex, oral (f. & m. receiving), hand job, woo gets slightly rough, nipple play, missionary, doggy, sorry if i missed anything!!

—a/n: this piece came super randomly, but i was inspired by needs x tinashe / after hours x kehlani and needed to whip this baby out ASAP. enjoy!!

💿 wooyoung's setlist 💿

“Thank you.” You sweetly smile at the security guard at the door, brushing your way past the hefty line that ran down the block with your bestfriend, Yeosang. The club is already incredibly packed from wall to wall, the music’s vibrations felt at the base of your feet. For a minute, you didn’t actually think you’d make it inside in time. The security guard at the door wasn’t taking your sweet smiles, frowning as you bat your eyelashes in hopes of letting you skip the line simply because you knew the DJ. He definitely didn’t believe you, nor was he trying to give you the time of day. You didn’t let up though, and as if on cue, he received confirmation from the team inside that you and Yeosang were a part of the DJ’s crew.

Thank god.

Because that line was not it.

“It’s so fucking loud in here!” Yeosang yells as he turns back to look at you amidst the crowd chaos.

“We’re almost there!” You squeeze his hand as he platonically holds onto yours, leading you to the front of the crowd and up to the DJ booth.

“Never invite me out again if you just plan on seeing your boyfriend or whatever.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, whatever. Close enough.” You laugh when you finally approach the steps up to the stage, the security guard letting you slip through with Yeosang right at your hip. Heading up to the stage, you greet your friends Mingi, San and Yunho as they dance around with a few other familiar faces and sip on their drinks. Wooyoung is the main DJ for tonight’s event, and he’s having the time of his life— doing what he loves to do, with the people he loves most around him. The crowd is feeding into his energy as he smoothly transitions into the next song, dancing and singing along before finally breaking contact from his mixer and glancing over at you.

“Woo!”

“Whattup! You made it.” He smiles, bringing you flush against him for a hug and a chaste kiss to the temple. You blush at his attempt to subtly squeeze at your side, biting on his bottom lip before shifting his headphones enough to partially cover his ear. The thing about Wooyoung is that you adore him. You adore him because he’s been one of your good friends for some time now. You adore him because he brings you happiness, because he’s a good time. You adore him because of these unspoken feelings, that unlabeled ‘friends with benefits but everyone knows you two are feeling each other so why hide’ kinda thing. You haven’t done much besides innocently flirt around, make out a few times, dance at events together, engage in a few heated conversations over the phone, full send with the thirst traps. The chemistry is well and alive; you suppose by now you and Wooyoung would’ve figured things out since it was too obvious to your friends already, but the both of you seem to brush it off, still shying away from it— afraid of ruining the dynamic that’s already there with said label. Something that started off so fun, so innocent, ended up digging a little space in your heart, making you feel things you shouldn’t for your ‘lil past-time.

But, Wooyoung would move mountains for you, just so you know. He’s dying to make this different. Different from the others, different from anything he’s ever dealt with. Because you are different, and he’ll show you every chance he gets.

“Aw, look at you supporting Woo at his event.” Yunho pinches your cheek, his own painted with a red tint from the alcohol he’s been downing.

“Of course. He was so excited about it, ever since he started planning it out and everything.”

“You guys make things so complicated for no reason.” Yunho laughs. “Despite the friends with benefits bullshit, you know we can tell you two actually have feelings for each other, right?”

“Wow, I didn’t know I came to the club to be lectured by Jeong Yunho.” You laugh, gently pinching at his arm. “We don’t like each other. That’s all we are.” He rolls his eyes.

“Continue to convince yourself if that’s easiest, Y/N. Just want you two to be happy.” You lick your lips, jolting at the sudden roar that comes from the crowd when Woo transitions into another hype, upbeat song.

“Aye, can we get some shots, please? Gotta take one with Yeo and the pretty ‘lil thing right there.” He signals by making a glass-shape with his hand, tilting it back a few times until the bartender off to the side throws him a thumbs up. He looks at you with a smirk, quickly winking before he’s grabbing the mic and hyping the crowd up some more.

The shots turn into two, three, five maybe, before the world is spinning a little more than usual; off-balance and vision slightly blurry. You’re still coherent, and you’re still able to make sense of your surroundings. But the one thing you do find yourself struggling with is how good Wooyoung looks at the table. You try to brush it off, dancing around with your friends and loudly singing along to the songs that blast through the speakers.

“Having fun?” Wooyoung sets the headphones off to the side and steps back from the table to enjoy some company for a bit.

“Yeah, you’re not so bad after all.” You playfully punch him on the bicep and he laughs.

“You look so good tonight.” He says in your ear, pulling you flush against his body again— hand resting on the small of your back. “Gonna give me a bit of your time?”

“I don’t know, should I?”

“Tease. All those pictures and you can’t even spare me a minute.” He taps your nose and heads back to the table. It’s a few more minutes of Wooyoung hyping the crowd, San and Mingi both welcoming lapdances from a few cuties they met throughout the night while exploring out on the floor. Before you know it, you’re pulled mid-conversation with Yeo and Yunho— familiar hands resting on your waist. You feel Wooyoung push against you, guiding your hips against him for a dance. You love dancing with Woo because it’s fun, and there’s no pressure or expectation to be a certain way with him.

You live for that shit.

And tonight, you need him a little more than usual. In more ways than usual. Tippy-toeing into dangerous territory that makes you wanna act on your feelings.

You’re having to hold onto the edge of the table as Wooyoung bends you over ever so slightly, letting you work your ass against him to the music. He bites onto his bottom lip as he focuses on you, only you, matching your rhythm to the beat. You change your position, no longer leaning onto the edge of the table; back only inches away from Wooyoung. You lean to the side in order to get a better view of him from over your shoulder as you work your ass in slow, circular motions against him. The both of you let out a few laughs in between, focused on each other as if no one else was around. The grip on your hip tightens when Wooyoung’s free hand glides down your back in an effort to bend you over again. Your hands fall to your knees, picking up your pace to match the new song that comes on.

Wooyoung matches your energy so well it’s no wonder you never want to dance with anyone else the same way you do with him.

The dancing with Wooyoung continues for a bit more before he’s tapping out, tapping your hips once the song finishes. You stand to put some distance between you two, but he keeps you close; arm wrapped around your waist when you turn to look at him.

“I swear to God, Y/N.” He leans into your ear. “You make everything so difficult for me.”

“Doubt that.” He chuckles.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“The DJ is being fake and forgetting his set!” San teases. You blush and push him away, allowing him to get back to his craft in the meantime.

The next two and a half hours go by with a breeze, and you find your energy diminishing as the night continues to go on. You find yourself hugging closer to the wall behind the stage, leaning your head against Yeo’s shoulder— watching as San and Mingi continue to dance around and find a few pretties to get to know. Wooyoung turns over his shoulder a few times, tugging on your hand, flirting with you in a way he knows will get you to fold so quick; buckle at the knees, shyly giggle against him from all the cute ‘lil compliments that slip from his lips.

“Tryna go soon?” Yeosang asks near your ear. “Kinda over it.” He laughs.

“Yeah, I am, too! Let me just say goodbye to everyone.” You head to Yunho first, giving him a bear hug before letting San and Mingi playfully hug you and spin you around. “Hey.” You tug on Wooyoung’s hand, causing him to shift the headphones up so he could hear you.

“You’re leaving?” He frowns a bit.

“Yeah! Time for us to head out.” You smile, but he pouts.

“Where are you going?” He looks down at you, brushing the hair away from your face. “Don’t wanna stick around to grab a bite to eat with everyone after?”

“No, I’m tired. Yeo and I are probably just gonna grab something quick on the road before he drops me off.” He pouts even more.

“Gonna make me miss you.”

“Don’t say stuff like that, Woo.” He continues to pout anyway, hand coming to squeeze your side again in an endearing way.

“Can I text you later, then?”

“If I’m up.”

“I need you to be up. Please?”

“For what, exactly?” You chuckle.

“Your company.” He puckers his lips. “Tryna give me a kiss before you head out?”

“Get out.” You laugh.

“Just fuck and get together already!” Mingi says loudly with a hearty laugh. Woo turns to flip him off before shifting his attention back to you.

“Okay, please?” He repeats. “Promise me you’ll be up?”

“Get back to the crowd. I’ll be up.” You reassure him, gently pushing him towards the table. He nibbles at this bottom lip before heading back to his set. You nod over to Yeosang and start making your way out of the club, holding onto his hand as he leads the way again. Once you get outside, the cold air feels good against your sticky, warm skin. You let out a deep breath, keeping your body close to your bestfriend to keep some kind of warmth.

“I don’t know why you just don’t tell him.” Yeosang says as he continues to walk alongside you on the way to the car parked on the opposite end of the block.

“I have nothing to tell him.”

“Y/N, please.” Yeosang chuckles. “We know.” You roll your eyes and sigh.

“Why is everyone on my case about him tonight?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you two should just quit the act and get together already?” He snorts. “You should at least try when you guys get some alone time later.”

“Who said we will?”

“I know you, you’ll stay up for him.” Yeosang gives you a look before gently nudging you. “Until then, what do you wanna stop by for?”

“I don’t know, I’m not too hungry. Truthfully, I’d be satisfied with some good ol’ fries and an ice cream cone.” You laugh and Yeo nods while swinging his keys around his finger.

“Got it.” He unlocks the door. “Get in princess, we need to get your fries and ice cream before Woo comes over.” You scold him as you settle into the passenger’s seat, recalling some events from the night as he drives off to the nearest fast food joint for the best fries nearby.

When Yeosang finally drops you off at home, you’ve completely devoured your fries and ice cream cone, and you find yourself slowly dragging yourself up to your studio. The club had just closed, so you weren’t expecting to hear from Wooyoung for awhile. You let out a satisfied sigh when you slip out of your shoes, kicking them off to the side before tossing your bag and keys onto the table. You make a beeline for the shower, more than ready to wash off the club and get into something comfortable. It’s a quick one, though; a good 10 minutes under the hot water with that coconut body scrub you love so much before stepping out and lathering up with some body cream. You toss on an oversized shirt and crash onto your bed, feeling incredibly happy to be in your own safe space.

You wonder what Wooyoung is doing.

It’s crazy because at this point, it feels like the universe is listening closely to your thoughts— especially when a ding comes through on your phone and puts a big smile on your face.

wooyo: cutiepie

wooyo: are you up 🥺 say yes

you: lol yeah i am.

wooyo: fuck yeah! you kept your promise!

you: excuse, since when did i ever break a promise with you?

wooyo: never, that’s why you’re perfect for me

you: shut up lol

wooyo: lol 😙 can i slide through and hang out for a bit?

you: mhm! what happened to eating out with the boys?

wooyo: bruh san got too fucked up so we all ended up going our separate ways

you: wooooow hahah hope he’s good though?

wooyo: he’ll be fine. did u and yeo actually get some stuff to eat?

you: yeah we did. you should grab something for yourself before heading over

wooyo: nah it’s all good. i don’t care too much for it, just need your company. be there in 15?

you: sounds good! front door’s unlocked

wooyo: hot, she can’t wait either

you: stop while you’re ahead jung wooyoung

wooyo: oop hehe woops 🤭

It wasn’t anything new to have Wooyoung come over, but he usually comes to hang out for an hour or so before he’s leaving to head back to his own place. The good thing about Wooyoung is that even though there’s this deep chemistry, this longing for each other, he never forces anything. Never pressures you.

So, he comes through. He gives you a few kisses and gives you a few laughs from his jokes. He cuddles you for a bit before he’s saying his goodbyes and struggling to get himself out of the door.

It’ll probably be the same tonight, maybe.

It feels different because you loved seeing him in his element, and you loved having fun with him. It also feels different because your friends were all up in your case about him— now, you can’t really get the idea out of your head. That maybe, you do really, really want something with Wooyoung and you’re afraid to admit it. Afraid he might not feel the same even though he’s never done anything to hurt you or show you otherwise.

Maybe, you’ll finally take that leap tonight and just go for it.

Say fuck it.

In the end, at least you could say you tried, right?

Amidst all your overthinking, you surprisingly do fall asleep in those 15-20 minutes. You’re awoken by your front door closing, along with Wooyoung’s loud ass keys dangling from his keychain and hitting his thigh with every step he takes.

“Did you fall asleep?” He giggles when tosses his belongings onto your desk and plops onto your bed.

“I did fall asleep for a bit.” You yawn and fix your position a bit, Wooyoung laying next to you on his tummy.

“I didn’t even take that long, did I?”

“No, but I can’t be tired?! Damn.” He snorts.

“Sorry, sorry.” He kisses the tip of your nose, his arm draped over you. Hand caressing your side under your shirt. His hand is warm, but it tickles against your skin and raises a few goosebumps at how smooth his touch is. He looks at you for a split second before he leans in to peck you on the lips, smiling into the kiss just as he pulls back. “So, did you have fun?”

“I did. You played a good set tonight, Woo.”

“I did, huh?” You laugh.

“Did you have fun?”

“It was so fucking fun.” He laughs. “I just wished you stayed ‘till the end. Everyone seemed boo’d up and I was just the lonely ass DJ playing for the crowd.”

“Please. I’m sure you still had fun until then.”

“I did, but it wasn’t the same without you.” You give him a tiny, toothless smile, hand brushing through his soft black hair.

“When’s your next one?”

“Why, huh?” He smirks. “An excuse to dance up on me again?”

“Excuse you, you pulled me for a dance!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, and? I’ll do it again at the next one.” He pulls out his phone. “I’m doing something next weekend with a few other DJs. Wanna come?”

“Sure. I don’t think Yeo would go, though. I practically dragged his ass out for this one.”

“Okay.” Wooyoung types something on his phone before tossing it aside, full attention on you again. “Promise me you’ll actually stay until the end. Gimme a chance to show you off, too.”

“Wooyoung.” You giggle. He tickles your sides, causing you to squeal and kick your feet before he lets you breathe. You find Wooyoung staring at you again, and it causes your heart to do major flips.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N. You looked so damn good tonight.”

“You did too, I guess.” You tease and he bites onto his bottom lip, leaning forward for another kiss.

“Tease. Hate it.” He presses his lips against yours, holding it for as long as he can before he pulls back. “Why don’t you wanna kiss me in front of our friends, hm?” He presses another kiss to your lips, edging closer to your body so he could comfortably throw his arm around you.

“Because we aren’t together.” You giggle.

“Shouldn’t we change that?”

“Don’t say shit like that, Wooyoung. I told you.”

“I mean it. Why can’t we be? I don’t necessarily have anything to hide.” Wooyoung kisses at the corner of your lips. “Unless you do?”

“I don’t.”

“So, tell me. Why can’t we be?” He asks again, close to a whisper, lips grazing the surface of yours. You don’t say anything, no. Instead, you feel like your actions could do the talking for tonight. Your actions could tell Wooyoung what you’ve been feeling all this time, your actions could tell Wooyoung how much you’ve been longing for him— longing for something more, longing for something deeper than the surface.

You make the first move and push into his lips, instantly deepening the kiss. Your hands tug at the ends of his hair as the two of you fit in each other’s molds so perfectly; teeth clashing against each other in a fit of desperate need, tongues fighting for dominance. Hoping the answer would be evident in the way you move so well with him. “Fuck, baby.” Wooyoung breathily responds as you bite onto his bottom lip. He moves down to your neck and licks across the surface, gently nipping and sucking faint marks down the column. You feel Wooyoung’s hand squeeze at your hip before he pauses at the material of your panties, threatening to slip them down and toss them off. Everything suddenly feels so heated, too intense, too quick— you’re afraid there isn’t a way to come back from this anymore. “Y/N, if you tell me to stop right now, I’ll stop.” He feels your hesitancy, almost hears you thinking outloud. “Whatever you wanna do.”

“N-no. Keep going.”

“You sure? Cause if I keep going, I won’t be able to stop, you know that, right?” He gently nips at your chin while teasing the edge of your panties. “Been wanting this for so long, I won’t be able to help myself.”

“I want this too.”

“Yeah?” He smirks while finally pulling your panties down and tossing them onto the floor. “Gonna let me finally take care of you?” He kisses you once more before shifting his position to be in between your thighs, hands gripping at ‘em while he presses light kisses in your inner thighs. He smirks to himself and bites onto his bottom lip when he sees you bare underneath the shirt, causing the heat to rise to your cheeks.

“Woo.” You shyly throw an arm over your face.

“Don’t do that.” He chuckles and gently tugs on your elbow. “You’re so fucking beautiful, shit feels too fucking good to be true right now.” In a blink of an eye, Wooyoung presses a light kiss against your pussy— sending tingles straight down your spine. He indulges in how reactive you are, gently easing himself back down onto your heat to give you what you deserve. You let out a breathy moan when Wooyoung latches back on and continues his work on you; tongue working up and down, licking in between your folds. The pleasure makes your back arch in response, another moan slipping from your lips and sounding like music to Wooyoung’s ears.

“Oh my god.” You let out with a silent moan. You whimper when Wooyoung slips in two digits, pumping into you at a quick pace while his mouth continues to lap at your clit, sucking in between to taste every single drop of you. When he pulls out, you take the opportunity to grind against his mouth; aching to feel the friction you so desperately need, want, from him. “Oh fuck, Woo.” Your moan is a little louder this time, causing him to groan against you as a way to egg you on towards the finish line. “Just like that, please. I’m gonna—” You whine, repeatedly cursing to yourself until you feel that coil within you suddenly snap and throw you off guard. Your moans bounce off the walls and Wooyoung is sure the couple upstairs can hear it loud and clear.

Oh well.

“Did so well for me, pretty girl.” He kisses your inner thigh, leading a trail up to your knee. He sits back onto his knees and removes his shirt, the tent in his sweats making you drool the more you fixate on it.

“Woo.” You look at him with a tiny pout. “Can I?” You sit up in order to reach him and palm hin gently.

“Mm, baby.” He lets out a small moan. “You don’t have to, I just—”

“Please?” You beg with those eyes and Wooyoung can’t help buckle at the knees. You’re already helping him out his sweats, and he feels the urge, the desire, to find out how your pretty lips feel wrapped around his dick.

The image alone drives him to insanity, and he can’t wait to see you sucking him off like the good girl you are.

He swallows the lump in his throat when he watches you pump him slowly, taking your lips to his tip. He hisses when you lick away at the pre-cum pooling at the top of the head before lowering your mouth down his length.

And, fuck.

Wooyoung feels like he’ll lose himself right at this moment. He tilts his head back in pleasure, letting out a small, guttural moan when you work your mouth [and hands] on him. He gently tugs at your hair, pushing you a little further down his length just to test the waters. But, you take him anyway, and Wooyoung wants to fucking combust. You look so, so pretty with your lips around him, and it doesn’t help his cause when he feels his dick hit the back of your throat; pushing him to the highest of highs, purest ecstasy.

“Fuck—fuck.” He groans. “Baby, wait. You’ll make me cum.” He lets out a breath, eyes focusing on you. He pulls you back just a bit, caressing your cheek when he sees a faint tear streak coating the surface. “I need to be in you. Now.” You bite onto your bottom lip and settle back onto your back as Wooyoung slots himself back in between your legs. He takes your shirt off at the same time, tongue licking a stripe up your cleavage before leaving wet kisses along the swell of your breasts. He quickly pops a nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around the puffy bud before repeating the motions with the other.

“Shit.” You hiss. “Wooyoung, please.”

“Please, what?” He teases. He has that shit-eating smirk on his face as he sits back and watches you squirm, pumping himself slowly while he waits for you to respond. “Hm, sweet girl?”

“Need you.”

“Where? Care to tell me again?”

“I swear to God if you aren’t fucking me in the next 2 minutes—” He laughs as he lowers himself back down, just enough to hover over your body and plant a feathery kiss on your lips.

“Say please.” He smiles. “Besides, do you have a condom? I swear I haven’t been messy or anything, you know this. But I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m on the pill, so please.”

“You sure?” You nod, hands resting on his shoulders. He does a subtle nod before he lines himself up at your entrance and eases in— the both of you letting out gasps while adjusting to the feeling. It already feels too good with the way he fills you up and makes you feel full. For Wooyoung, it’s the way your walls wrap around him so nicely that makes him truly believe you were made just for him.

Only him.

Once he bottoms out, he sits in the position for a second before he slowly rocks against you. Wooyoung begins to pick up the pace when he feels a little more comfortable, pressing kisses on every inch of your skin that he possibly can while whispering sweet nothings against the surface. He praises you so, so well, it has you whimpering a mess underneath him— only wanting more of Wooyoung, only wanting to feel every bit of his soul intertwined with yours at this very moment.

Only him.

“God, you feel so good Y/N.” He lets out a breathy moan into your mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Everything about you is so perfect.” He moans. “So pretty and so perfect.” He picks up his pace, hips working a little sloppier, a little harder. “Just for me.” He sits back and rests his hand on your hips, pounding into you in such a majestic way, it almost has you seeing stars right then and there. You continue to praise him, letting him know how good he’s making you feel, and how you need him just like this.

Only him.

“Switch for me.” He removes himself quickly and directs you to your fours. He wastes no time slipping himself back into you, the new position and angle enough to make you two crave more and more of each other. Once he buries himself to the hilt, he keeps a steady pace as his hands explore every curve of your body, pressing kisses against the base of your neck;

Shoulders.

Back.

Tracing your spine.

“Feels too good.” You mewl, Wooyoung’s name slipping from your lips repeatedly like a song, a mantra. He continues to pound into your from behind— ass cheeks sore and red from the impact, from Wooyoung’s hands.

“Wanna make you mine.” He moans in your ear as he thrusts a ‘lil harder, a ‘lil rougher than the last. “Can I, babygirl?”

“Y-Yes.” Your response is almost broken by a cry that’s released, an immediate reaction to how hard Wooyoung is fucking into you.

“Say it louder. Can’t hear you. Can I make you mine, baby?” He repeats, thrusting even harder than the last. His hand glides down your back as you fall onto your chest with your cheek deep into the pillow; ass up and pressed against him so beautifully every time he fucks into you.

“Yes, fuck!” You let out, hand coming down to rub at your sensitive nub to push you over the edge one last time for tonight.

“Oh shit, gonna cum—” Woooyoung pants. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside.”

“So fucking hot—” He groans while sloppily working his hips until the very end. You feel him fill you up, coating your walls so deliciously it’s enough to push you to your own high. Wooyoung hisses and grunts a few times when he feels you squeeze him, feeling a bit sensitive from his own release.

“God.” You try to regulate your breathing when you come back down from cloud nine, body falling limp against the mattress with Wooyoung plopping next to you.

“Come here, pretty.” He chuckles, swooping you onto his chest with his hand coming up to stroke your hair and massage your scalp. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

“Okay. But, first. Can you stay tonight?” You look up at him and he smiles brightly.

“Why would I leave my baby’s side?” He kisses your forehead. “Let’s go. If you’re good, I’ll let you take me in the shower.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“The real after hours after party.” Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows as he watches you climb over and start making your way to the bathroom.

“You’re so sick for that.” You laugh, squealing as he smacks your ass and follows you into the bathroom, getting his way with you once more under the steaming hot water.

💿 taglist: @asjkdk @bintificreads @interweab @svintsandghosts

#wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #wooyoung fanfic #jung wooyoung imagines #wooyoung imagines #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez fluff #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #jung wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung fluff #kpop imagines #hwaslayer: after hours

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vitalverstappen · 1 month ago

Text

Tradition - O. Piastri

summary: with you and Oscar having different traditions when it comes to the holidays, you figured you'd show him some of your favorites

pairing: oscar piastri x girlfriend!reader

warnings: none :) just pure fluff

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i have a few more holiday fics to post between now and Christmas, so keep a look out!

masterlist

It was common knowledge that the land down under experienced the holiday season a little differently than the rest of the world. Winter coats were swapped out for swimming trunks, the snow traded for sand, and the ham for a barbeque.

With the holidays falling over F1’s winter break, you often found yourself indulging in the Australian traditions in Oscar’s childhood home with his family.

But this year, Oscar decided to stay in the States for part of the break, allowing you to show your boyfriend some of your favorite holiday traditions. Oscar had always been a good sport about trying new things, so when you invited him to experience your Christmas traditions, he was more than eager to dive in.

Your hometown was nothing like the beaches and sunny skies of Australia, but it had its own charm - especially during the holidays. There was something about the frost in the mornings mixed with the twinkling lights lining every street that made everything feel extra magical.

Just like every holiday season, you were tasked with making all of the sweet treats that you would end up giving away to your relatives and neighbors. You and Oscar were in your parent’s kitchen, your family recipe book cracked open and all of the cookie ingredients spread out on the counter. You had to suppress a laugh as he looked up from the recipe book, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Is it a bad time to admit I’ve never made cookies before?” He asked, a sheepish smile on his face

You smiled, flicking a small bit of flour at him. “Well, it’s about time you learned then,” you teased, grabbing a bowl and scooping in the sugar. “I’ll guide you through it. You’ll be a pro by the end of the day.”

Oscar chuckled, brushing the flour off his shirt and moving to grab the butter. “I’m trusting you here,” he said, his voice light, but there was a playful glint in his eye as he handed you the mixer. “If these cookies turn out terrible, I’m blaming you.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Deal. But if they turn out perfect, I’ll take all the credit.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, with Oscar following your instructions as you mixed the dough together. Once the mixing was done, you dumped the dough out onto the floured counter.

“Alright Osc, put those muscles to use.” you teased, handing him the rolling pin

There was something unexpectedly charming about watching him, the professional athlete, fumble with the rolling pin and get flour all over his hands.

Oscar shot you a playful look as he struggled to roll out the dough evenly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “This is harder than it looks,” he muttered, clearly trying his best.

You laughed, leaning against the counter, admiring him as he worked. “I think you’re doing great for a first timer.”

Once the dough was rolled out and the flour was gone from Oscar’s hands, you grabbed the tupperware full of cookie cutters, dumping them out on the table. Your boyfriend’s eyes lit up at the numerous different shapes you had to offer - from stars, to candy canes, to trees.

Your eyes scanned the pile, looking for one cookie cutter in particular - the angel. It was your favorite, as a kid you would hog the cutter, and everyone knew the cookies had been made by you if they were given one in that shape. As you dug through the pile, the cookie cutter was nowhere to be found.

Frowning slightly, you continued to dig through the pile, hoping it would magically appear. You could feel Oscar’s gaze on you as you pulled out a snowflake and a reindeer shape.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

You let out a small sigh. “I can’t find my favorite cookie cutter. The angel one - it’s kind of a tradition that it’s the first shape we always make.”

Oscar glanced down to his hands, where a metal cookie cutter rested between his fingers. “Uh, you mean this one?” he asked

Your eyes followed his gaze, landing on the piece of metal. It was the angel cookie cutter. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it had meaning,” he said as he stretched out his hand for you to take the cookie cutter, a rosy glow on his cheeks that you knew wasn’t from the cold outside.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, but didn’t take the cutter out of his hands. “Go ahead, make the first cut.”

Oscar’s eyes squinted slightly. “But didn’t you say it’s the first one you do?”

You chucked, shaking your head. “I never said who made the first one. It just has to be the angel.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “So you’re saying I get to make the first one?”

You nodded, still holding his gaze. “You get the honor. It’s a special tradition, after all.”

His smile widened, and he positioned the cutter over the dough. “Well, I better not fuck it up.” he joked, and with exaggerated precision, he pressed the cutter down, then carefully lifted it away, revealing the angel shape.

While your eyes rolled, your smile only grew at his overly serious approach. “Perfect.” you said, watching as he looked at his work with a mix of pride and amusement.

With the first cut made, the rest of the dough was soon transformed into a variety of festive shapes. Both of you anxiously awaited for the treats to be done in the oven, the smell of them baking taunting you with every whiff.

Once they were baked and cooled, you walked Oscar through various ways to decorate the various shapes. You chose piping bags full of frosting and festive designs that brought the cookies to life, but you couldn’t help but giggle at Oscar’s creative choices. Though they were colorful, they were definitely a bit on the messy side - a generous layer of frosting here, a heavy-handed mountain of sprinkles there. But his grin was infectious, and there was something endearing about the way he dove into decorating without a care for perfection.

A few days later, you and Oscar found yourselves, along with your parents, in the local botanical gardens. Every year, they would go all out for the holidays, decorating with thousands of lights, ribbons, ornaments, and anything else you could think of. The whole place transformed into a glittering winter wonderland, with towering Christmas trees, shimmering garlands draped along every path, and twinkling fairy lights illuminating the flowers and plants in a magical way.

Oscar’s eyes widened as you walked through the entrance, the beauty of the displays almost taking his breath away. “This is incredible,” he murmured, his gaze darting from one stunning display to the next.

You smiled, watching the wonder on his face. “Yeah, it’s pretty impressive, isn’t it? Every year, they do a different theme, but it always looks stunning.” You reached for his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch as you walked side by side, taking it all in.

Your parents, who had grown accustomed to the spectacular sight, were already snapping pictures, marveling at how much work had gone into the displays. But for you, this place held a special place in your heart. Even though Oscar took you to the Royal Botanical Gardens Christmas displays when you spent the holidays in Australia, you had always preferred the one in your hometown - walking through the gardens with your family, admiring the decorations, and soaking in the holiday spirit.

As if he read your mind, Oscar leaned down slightly, his voice low so only you could hear. “I can see why you love this place so much. It’s something out of a Hallmark movie.”

“Yeah, all we need is the snow” you laughed, nudging Oscar playfully, earning a smile from him.

“It’s got to be cold enough for it.” He chuckled back

As you continued to wander through the gardens, your parents led the way, stopping at various displays to take photos. The air was crisp, and the scent of pine and cinnamon seemed to hang in the atmosphere. His bright orange (or papaya as he insists per McLaren) coat was a stark contrast against your black one as you walked hand in hand. The familiar warm fingers of his were slowly turning cold with every display.

You could feel the chill beginning to creep into Oscar’s hand, and you squeezed it gently, offering him a soft smile. “Are you getting a little chilly?”

Oscar chuckled slightly, his breath visible in the crisp air. “A little bit, yeah,” he admitted, trying to hide the slight shiver in his voice. “Guess I should’ve gone for more than just the winter jacket, huh?”

You smiled, rubbing your gloved thumb over his bare skinned fingers. “I told you a hat and gloves never hurt anyone.” you teased “But I know just the fix.”

Before Oscar could respond, you let him towards the cozy kiosk tucked under the trees, where steaming cups of hot chocolate and spiced cider were being served. The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and chocolate filled the air.

You both ordered hot chocolates, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon, and walked towards the greenhouses up the hill. The warmth from your drinks radiated through the cups, and the steam danced into the cold air through the sipping hole as you walked with Oscar hand in hand. The bright lights from the displays behind you created a soft glow against the darkening sky, making the scene feel even more magical. Oscar took a sip of his hot chocolate, and a content sigh escaped him.

“This is what I needed.” he said, his cheeks flushed from the cold, but his voice warm with satisfaction. “Never thought I’d be trying to warm up around the holidays. It’s always trying to stay cool.”

You laughed softly, taking a sip of your own hot chocolate as you walked beside him. “Yeah I bet it’s a bit of a shock.” you said feeling the warmth of the drink spread through you.

Oscar glanced at you, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it. The holiday cheer, the decorations, the whole deal. It’s definitely different than the beach and BBQ’s, but it’s a welcome change.”

You nudged him gently, feeling the cold press in but still comfortable with him by your side. “You’re a fast learner.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the lights around you. “Hey, if it means I get to experience Christmas with you and your family, I’ll learn whatever I have to.”

The traditions and holiday excitement came to a close on Christmas Night. It was long after Oscar tried your mom’s famous Christmas honey ham and had stuffed his face with the cookies you had made days prior.

The fire crackled in the fireplace as you walked over to Oscar, who was cozied up with a blanket on the couch. Your parents had gone to the neighbors for some drinks - a tradition that predated your existence - giving you and Oscar some time alone.

Oscar, his face still rosy from the warmth of the meal, looked over at you with a half-smile. “That ham might’ve just changed my life,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, it’s always a hit. My mom’s been perfecting it for years.” you said as you sat down next to him, moving the blanket so that it was covering the both of you. “I’ll have to give you the recipe.”

“And the pumpkin pie recipe. That was incredible.” Oscar added, pulling you in closer.

You chuckled before planting a soft kiss on his cheek “I’ll see what I can do.” you said as you reached for the TV remote. “But there is one last thing I always do before I wrap up the holidays.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? What’s that?”

You smiled, feeling the familiar excitement bubble up inside you. It was a tradition you’d carried with you for as long as you could remember, and now it felt right to share it with him. “We watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” you said, already flipping through the streaming services to find it.

Oscar’s face lit up with genuine surprise. “Really?” he laughed, leaning back against the couch, clearly amused. “I’ve never watched The Grinch. I mean I know the story, but never sat down to see it.”

“You’ve never seen The Grinch?!” you exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief. “That’s a crime, Oscar!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. The movie was a staple of your childhood, how could someone not see it?

Oscar grinned, unbothered by your exaggerated shock. “Well, I guess I’ve been living under a rock.” He shrugged playfully, the grin never leaving his face. “But hey, I’ll give it a shot.”

“You better give it a shot.” You leaned over and snatched a nearby blanket, wrapping it around the both of you tighter as the movie’s opening credits began to roll on the screen. “Now I’m not gonna lie, the Grinch did scare me as a kid.” you admitted, settling back into the couch with a sigh. “But I’ve gotten past that.”

He let out a small laugh, his arm around you as you both snuggled under the blanket. “Scared? Really? I mean he’s definitely a bit creepy, but I didn’t think he was that terrifying.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You didn’t grow up with him lurking in your childhood nightmares,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “But now that I’m older, I’ve come to appreciate the weirdness of it all. Plus the heart growing scene at the end? Always gets me.”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully as he glanced at the screen. “I’m ready for my heart to melt then”

As the story of How the Grinch Stole Christmas unfolded, you could see Oscar becoming genuinely entertained by the outlandish prosthetic makeup, the ridiculousness of the Grinch’s antics, and the heart warming turn of events where the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes.

“That was… actually really good.” he said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can see why you watch it every year.”

“I told you,” you said, reaching for his hand as the end credits rolled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar squeezed your hand back, his fingers warm against yours. “I’m glad I could spend this holiday with you.” he said, his voice sincere and gentle.

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as the screen faded to black. “Me too,” you murmured, your heart full of warmth as the holiday spirit wrapped around you, just like the blanket on the couch.

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missfrustration · 3 months ago

Text

strictly psychic business (reigen arataka x fem!reader) 18+

A/N: my first fanfic i wrote on ao3 two years ago. part 1 of the "strictly messin' with a psychic" series.

rating: explicit! minors do not interact please!

tags: smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, oral sex, good person reigen arataka, smoking, one night stands, hook-up, top reigen arataka, light dom/sub, bro eats it like a madman, wacky socks, consent is sexy!!, no use of y/n

word count: 8k

part 1 part 2

You held the invitation to tonight's networking mixer in your right hand and your purse in your left as you scampered down the street. You were about a block away from the most prominent business event center in downtown Seasoning City, running slightly late. You cursed yourself for taking too long to get ready. On top of that, you should’ve figured that being a visitor of this side of town also meant it would take you longer to get there due to the unfamiliarity.

Looking in the mirror earlier, you felt too good to walk out the door so fast. You donned a silky blue mid-length dress that hugged your curves while still being modest. The front was a very subtle v-cut, while the back revealed almost half of your back. Your hair was styled earlier this morning, and your makeup was soft glam with a hint of dramatic brown eyeliner. Because of this, you had sway with each step of your walk that slightly lessened as you reached the event’s doors.

As you glance at the fancy door’s golden handle, you hear a voice coming from inside. You cringe, knowing it’s the host of the event. As you slowly open the door, your suspicions are confirmed. The CEO of the host company is finishing his welcoming speech, as everyone watches him on the main floor. This is horrible timing for you to walk in, but you take your chances. You meet a few pairs of eyes slightly gawking at you once you enter the room. They seem stragglers themselves from the way they are distanced from the main crowd, so you don’t mind.

As the host bro makes one more finishing statement, you scan the room more as people start to clap. You are hoping to spot some familiar faces from your company, only to be disappointed by the mass of bodies mostly turned away from you. Although it was a little isolating, you think you blended in with the others well enough that no one was giving you scowls.

From the corner of the hall, you spot a man that captures your attention. While everyone’s formed social cliques, is on their best behavior, and in classy attire, the man before you is the exact opposite. This dirty blonde in a tacky, gray suit is lazily leaning against the wall about 50 feet away from you. Plastered on his face is the most indifferent look you’ve ever seen. You notice his legs crossed over which reveal…some very eye-catching socks. Because of the distance, you can’t see the design save for the neon yellow and deep brown they have on them. They are very noticeable under his suit pants that were tailored too short for his legs. It’s impossible to tell if his pants were intentionally short or if it was just secondhand. One hand is resting above his head while the other is picking in between his teeth. As the audience roars with applause, he kicks off the wall and yawns.

People start to disperse around the hall now, both talking amongst themselves and heading to the different fancy food stands. You lock your eyes back on the blonde, only to be met with his eyes. He’s looking straight at you with a goofy smirk on his face. Before you could react, the contact was broken from the groups of people filling your vision. You get slightly annoyed at the crowd, and keep staring, waiting for the commotion to clear up. By the time you could look again, he was gone. You click your tongue, feeling like an idiot for trying to stare at some random stranger. ‘Whatever,’ you think, ‘let’s get this thing over with.’

About an hour has gone by since you arrived at the venue, and you’ve been relentlessly worn out. After meeting with some colleagues shortly after arriving, you meet some of the businessmen who are associated with the main companies that have sponsored the event. While you let your colleagues do most of the talking, you half-heartedly listened in on the conversations. You despised the networking aspect of your job. You could tell everyone, including collogues, feigned an excessively polite attitude while speaking to one another. It was all an act to create these hallow connections. After about an hour of this, with a minimal amount of business cards and contacts in your pocket, you dismissed yourself and found your way to the luxurious bar area. Typically, mixers don’t provide bars, much fewer ones that are all expenses paid. You can’t believe they had all this money to sponsor this… so you were taking advantage of it for the rest of the night. As soon as you got there, you flagged the bartender and ordered a vodka lime. As you sipped, you scanned faces at the bar table. If only…

You would want to talk to him. Out of all the different suited men, he was the most on your mind tonight. Exactly why, you weren't sure, but being able to ask him why he was here in such an idle way would give a little clarity. You wanted to know why you found him so enticing.

Then you spotted him.

He’s at the end of the bar with a big platter of food and a lemon sour. His finger is in his ear, and he slightly squints when pulling it out. Oh wow. And he doesn’t give a fuck. Hm.

By the time you decide if sparking a conversation is a good idea, you’ve already sauntered over to him. After your first glass, you were acting impulsive. His platter of food looks like it was previously filled to the brim judging by the number of empty toothpicks and cherry stems that scatter the plate. Only a few fruit cubes and a mini sandwich are what's left. You stop in front of him and briefly check out his socks. Upon close inspection, you can finally figure out that the brown and yellow socks he’s wearing are crudely drawn cartoons of monkeys and bananas, respectively. Oh, tooo funny, you thought. He sways his head up to look at you, slightly chewing the rest of the contents in his mouth as he tilts his head.

“Hey there.” You stifle a laugh. “Nice socks.”

“Hey, it’s you from earlier. That girl who came in super late. Thanks, I take pride in my appearance.” He emphasized the super and pointed to you as he took a small sandwich held up by a toothpick on his platter and chomped into it.

“Wow, the one and only. This seat taken?”

“What do you think? Be my guest, sweet thing.” He gestures towards it dramatically as you scoff at the name and sit.

“It’s not sweet thing,” you proceed to informally introduce yourself to the man with your name. “By the way, I didn’t stand out as much as you, Mister… uhh-”

“It’s Reigen. Reigen Arataka. The Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century is at your service. I would give you a business card but I’ve run out for tonight. You interested in my services?”

Not the services you typically offer. You thought. Stifling a laugh, you continue, “Psychic, huh? Why the hell did you get invited to a tech mixer? This doesn’t seem to be your scene anyway.”

“I’m just that good I’m needed everywhere. Actually, I could ask the same out of you, Miss I’m-too-pretty-for-this-place.” He emphasizes the last sentence with flashy hand movements, finishes the sandwich, and starts gnawing on the toothpick with a rather indifferent expression. Rodent-style.

You held back a blush at his subtle compliment and fire back, “That so? I was required to come here for company reasons and not of my own accord. Now, why don’t you answer my question about why you’re really here? I’m not buying your story.” You lean forward in your seat and look right at Reigen. He looks at you with a somewhat confused face, puts down his now abused toothpick, and sighs.

“I don’t fancy your attitude, I might just not tell you. Not that it’ll matter either way.”

“What about another drink in return?” You use your thumb to point at his now empty glass, offering to get him a new one in exchange for some answers. He’s fascinated you at this point, so you would love to see this conversation fully.

“I’ll pass. ‘M not trying to piss myself blackout drunk at the nearest gas station.” As he says this, he reaches into his suit pocket and grabs a pack of smokes. “Care for a cancer stick instead?”

“If I get what I want.” He shrugs at your response as you both head out to the nearest exit. It seems to be an outdoor patio about a hundred feet away from the bar and would be considered vacant save for the few bunch hanging around.

“Fine by me.” He responds. After two attempts, Reigen takes one cig out of the box with his mouth. He then meekly takes one out for you, and quickly retreats the pack in his pocket. The cigarette starts wiggling up and down gently in his mouth as you both start walking to the outdoor patio. As you watch him do this you nearly trip into the screen door. Reigen opens it for you in time, however. You hear him snort as he maneuvers his arm to keep it from bumping into you. It’s a small, sweet, and awkward gesture.

As you walk out, you met with a slightly cool air kissing your skin and amber lights dangling on the pergolas above you. There are a few seating areas with even fewer suited men smoking cigars and chatting. You both migrate to the balcony area, which looks over Downtown Seasoning City. It’s a beautiful sight that wraps up the whole venue, even if it’s not as noticeable to most of the guests.

“So… you're in tech?” Reigen hands you your smoke as he pulls out his lighter and brings it to his fresh one. It takes a considerable amount of flicks to light up and barely lasted long enough to light up the cigarette.

You shrug, largely unengaged with his question. “Yeah, software developer- My turn, what’s your angle? You should answer this time.” You lean back against the balcony with a smirk and lock eyes with him.

“You wanna know that bad huh?”

You nod, moving in closer.

“For the food honestly. That’s my answer, you happy?” He gives you a shit-eating grin, obviously enjoying the annoyed look on your face.

You pause for a moment and sigh, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Oh well.” He chuckles at your response before it eventually dies out in the night air.

There is a moment of silence shared between you. Reigen drags a puff out of his cigarette as you think about excusing yourself. You should’ve guessed that you wouldn’t be satisfied with the answer of the man with unsightly, mismatched socks. Before you can, however, he speaks up.

“I wasn’t invited actually.” He sighs. You peer up at him with a raised brow. He continues, “They saw the suit and just let me in. I came here at first wanting to advertise my services to other businesses but instead got bombarded with them doing the same thing. It was obvious they didn’t even hear what I was saying to them… they are just so dang caught up on the next line they plan to say.” He takes another long drag of his cigarette and looks out to the city. “After the first few I gave up. I guess I can’t blame them, so I thought I would stick around and eat what I can. After all, free food digs, so I’on mind.”

You hum in approval and cross your arms. He seems like the type to rarely open up to others, much less a stranger like you. You appreciated the effort. Eyes still locked on him, you chuckled “You act more naturally telling the truth. I like that. To be honest, it blows ass. Welcome to my world, baby,” You gesture to the venue dramatically and give a half-hearted chuckle. “This just comes with the territory.”

“Sounds like it sucks. I feel bad for ya.” He looks back at you, a slight blush on his face due to the cold. You see he has a somewhat nervous demeanor for a few seconds before quickly switching back to his previous suave one. The subtle compliment you’ve given him must’ve struck a chord after all. After a few moments of locking eyes, you discover the deep brown that envelops his pupils. They resemble the color of deep, rich honey. You blush at yourself due to your admiration of a nearly total stranger and have to break eye contact out of pure embarrassment. He points to your cigarette gingerly, “Uhh, you need a light… yet?” It makes you snap out of any deep thought you were in.

You nod, “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” You never smoke, but you didn’t want to deny Reigen for fear that wouldn’t have indulged in your interest in him.

He takes out the lighter from inside his suit pocket again and scoots closer to you. He gently wraps his hands around the cigarette being lightly held by your lips and tries to flick the light to life.

Flick, flick, flick. Flick. Flick, flick.

Each time Reigen flicked the lighter, a light ignited quickly but died out quicker. You figured it was due to the lighter’s life nearing its end. The gradual wind isn't helping, either. He tries a few more times with his hand cupped more and body closer to yours.

“Tch. I don’t know if you will now.” He clicks his tongue again after the last try with his cupped hand lightly brushing your nose, sending a slight shiver down your back. You peer below his face and hands and just now notice his tie has been loosened and the button-down has the top two buttons undone, showing a glimpse of his collarbone. You two are so close that if you stretched out your hand a few inches, you could touch his chest. Does he know how enticing he is right now? You feel your breath hitch at the subtle appeal of it as you come up with a great solution.

“Sorry, ‘bout that.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth as he retreats the lighter to the nearest pocket he can reach. As he takes a step back, you find the perfect opportunity to execute your plan.

“It’s alright. I found a better way, anyway.”

“What do you m-” You quickly step up to meet his face. You take your cigarette and meet it with the lit-up end of his. You lock eyes with a now surprised Reigen as you gracefully blow in through your cigarette to light it. Your faces are so close to each other that it causes both of you to blush. Reigen hitches his breath as he looks deep into your doe-like eyes with more intrigue. He’s suddenly way more interested in your intentions than he had been up to this point. However, you can tell this is very out of his comfort zone, as when you pull away, he’s frozen with both hands in the air and a cigarette holding onto his mouth for dear life.

You try to act as suave as you can about it, however. In a tone that sounds largely unaffected by what you’ve done, you remark, “Thanks, Reigen. Didn’t know I needed that until now.” You then take a long drag off your freshly lit cigarette with a flirtatious grin. You needed the nicotine as relief at this point to calm your nerves down, both excited and nervous about how he’ll react to your advances.

It takes a moment for him to respond. “Wow, I suppose like my women forward now.” He breathily says. He somewhat fidgets with his tie as he composes himself into that rather matter-of-fact demeanor again. “Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it is so working.” You admired the way he could switch up so fast. It made it more enticing to get him riled up. He finally caught on to your flirting, too.

“Oh, of course not, sir.” You fake feeling accused, lifting your hands in surrender. “I wanted to talk strictly business here. My work is very professional, in fact.”

He ignored how ironic it is that you state how professional you are when you were the latest out of all the people at this mixer.

“Something tells me you’re not in the mood to talk about work either,” Reigen sarcastically states as he raises an eyebrow. He lifts his cigarette to flick the ash off. It sparks something primal in you as your last sense of inhibitions finally snap.

“Oh wow, I wonder what gave it away. So,” You step in closer and lean up to whisper in his ear, “What will you do about it?” Your lips lightly brush the lobe of his ear, and Reigen jumps from your hot, moist breath.

Reigen doesn’t respond for a moment. You see a drop of sweat roll down his forehead as you feel his arms shift around you. A thought briefly passes your mind, Why is bro so sweaty? “I see,” he murmured, “Well in that case...” You suddenly feel his hand firmly on the small of your back that skims just above your ass. The grip is firm and causes your breath to hitch.

“Sorry, it’s been a while. I’m surprised,” He doesn’t look as nervous anymore, now sporting a lustful grin. You sigh in both relief and lust as he finally states, “but I get the gist of what this is.”

“Yeah? And what do you think this is?” You start to toy with his pink tie as you look at the man merely inches away from your face. The amber lights of the patio reflect on his face and bring a spark behind his eyes.

“Heh. C’mon, I’m psychic, remember? I know what you want. Let’s go already.” He gives you a mischievous look as he starts leading you off of the patio with his hand still firmly placed. You shiver so much at his touch, it's enthralling. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel if things go beyond this.

“Well, I mean,” his hand leaves you as both wave around so frantically it's hard to follow. He abruptly stops and holds out his hand, inviting you to take it. He releases a breath that seems less easygoing than Reigen hoped for, and more exaggerated. “Uh, no pressure. Only if you want.”

You stifle a laugh as he gingerly takes your hand in his. You can feel the slight, no scratch that, excessive clamminess in his hands. You find it cute, but really… why is bro sweating so much? Whatever, a risk to spend the night with him is just what you need.

“You’ve caught me, Reigen. My hotel is only a few blocks away. Now, show me what a psychic can really do.”

As soon as you closed the door to your hotel suite you kick your shoes off, ready to jump Reigen. You spent the travel to your hotel mostly in idle conversation. Just from the few minutes, you learn that Reigen’s life is filled with interest that makes you further intrigued by his mystique. While it made you more intrigued, it made you even hornier.

What could you say, you were willing to see what powers this psychic really packed.

By the time you were prepared to pounce, you felt his hands latch onto you. With a soft but steady grip, Reigen pinned you against the wooden door of the hotel room. You shuddered at his forwardness, as well as the cold surface your semi-bare back was pressed up against. He doesn’t do anything following this for a while, however, and you squirm under his gaze for a moment before you break the silence.

“Hey,” You awkwardly said.

“Hey,” He says back. “This… this is okay, right?”

He lightly brushes your shoulder with his thumb, showing that’s what he was talking about.

“You’re cute. You ask me that after pinning me?” You blush as you giggle.

He blushes in embarrassment and rubs his hand behind his head. “Man, my fault… you’re sexy. You’re right, though. I apologize.”

You breathily respond, “It’s okay,”

“I can kiss you though, right?” He asks in barely a whisper as he leans in closer to almost touch your lips. You softly smile, nodding your approval. Like clockwork, you feel his lips press against yours tenderly for the first time. They are warm and soft, but a little chapped at the fullest part. His hand reaches the bottom of your jaw to lightly lift it, deepening the kiss. As you melt into it, a soft breath lewdly escapes you.

You want more of him, so much more than a kiss. You needed it now. Wanton ignites in your core as you hold his head between your hands. Your tongue reaches between his twitching lips, pleading for entrance. To your satisfaction, he swiftly obliges and invitingly parts his lips for you. You feel him shudder against you as you slip your tongue to collide with his. It ignites something in him, further deepening the kiss as much as he can.

The tender kiss you both shared is now escalating into an intense makeout session. With it, comes a plethora of flavors on his tongue that dances with yours. You taste the hints of lemon sour on his tongue, along with a slight taste of the food bar helpings he had at the mixer earlier. Above all, the taste of tobacco from earlier lingers, covering the insides of his mouth. You so softly shiver from the sensation.

Tonight was the night exclusive for only the two of you. It’s a night full of impulse and lust, which you would love to take to the fullest. Reigen must feel the same too, as confirmed by his break of the kiss. He must be reading your mind or something with how great his timing is. He lightly hovers his hand over the smallest part of your waist and looks deep into your eyes, “Is it good to touch you here?”

You meet him with the prettiest doe-eyes Reigen has ever seen. Although he peers into innocent hues of brown, he’s thinking of anything but innocent thoughts. After a moment of catching your breath, you give him a nod yes, which he instantly reacts to. However, he’s relieved that your waist is still clothed by your dress, as his now extremely clammy palms won’t be detected by you just yet.

He places his palm firmly on your waist and slides it up and down to gently caress it as continues his tirade on your mouth. You softly groan into it as your tongues dance together. His grip presses into your skin firmly, further locking you between him and the cool wooden door on your back.

He breaks the makeout periodically and asks the same question for your shoulders, down to your waist again, down to your hips. His touch is slowly driving you wild. It’s like he’s slowly teasing you, waiting for the perfect time to take it a step further. It’s riling you up and leaves you panting, wanting more.

With his free hand, he brushes your hair back and breaks the kiss once more. In a breathy rasp, he asks, “Can I kiss right here?” With his lips now hovered over the side of your neck.

Your core tingles at his words. In anticipation, you hold your breath as you whisper yes. He hungrily takes your neck in his mouth, starting with a wet kiss in the center. He connects his tongue to the kissed skin and traces it down to the top of your shoulder. You lull your head to the side to give him more room to work his magic. He stops briefly to caress your waist more as he travels back to the neck. He takes his lips and slowly peppers your neck with small kisses right up to the ear. You lean into his mouth as it slowly sucks onto the lobe of your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine as you mewl in approval. Your ears are too sensitive for this in all the right ways.

“What… What about here?” You hear the faint shudder in his voice as he whispers in your ear. His voice sends a spark from you as you realize what he’s asking. You peer down to see his hand lightly brushing over your left breast. Satisfaction washes over you after what has felt like hours of this little game he’s been playing.

“Please, Reigen.” You panted.

That’s all the motivation he needed. He releases a hot breath of relief, you squeak a little as he grabs your clothed breast in his hand and squeezes. His mouth stays on your ear as he nips and pecks all over. You instinctively grab a head full of his hair and tug at it as you slightly pant.

His touch is driving you crazy, your body feels like it’s being put into a trance by this psychic. It was so much, it wasn't enough. Either way, you knew that you needed more from him. You jump the gun and lean into him.

“Please touch me more, Reigen. I need more.”

Your words snap him out of his actions as he locks eyes with you, a bead of sweat rolling down his face as he responds. “My bad… it’s been a while. What do you want me to do exactly?” The pitch in his voice rises higher than it needs to at the last sentence.

You take Reigen’s tie in your hand as you lead him into the bedroom part of your suite. “First, can you help me with this zipper?” You turn around so your back is facing him.

“Oh, sure thing.” You think it takes him a bit to realize you mean the dress zipper, as Reigen stands idle for a moment. After a few moments, you hear him shift and land his hands on you.

He somewhat fidgets with the dress, lightly grazing the bare area of your back and checking the edges of the fabric for the zipper. You barely hear him murmur, ”What the- how do I even get this thing off...Ah! There we go.” which causes you to giggle.

“Got it- Hey, don’t laugh!” He lightly stammers. You both revel in an awkward moment, which pauses as soon as you both hear your dress fall to the ground. You forgot the zipper of the dress reaches down to your ass, which makes the dress instantly slip off if zipped down all the way.

The chilly air of the air-conditioned hotel suite instantly hit your back as you indistinctly arched into Reigen. His hands land on you as you fall back into him. Instantly, the concentration of his scent is prevalent when you lay the back of your head on his shoulder. You smell the cheap cologne he had on his neck, and the musk he carried which must’ve elevated from the amount he’s been sweating tonight. Finally, you could detect the familiar smell of cigarettes on his clothes.

“You… really don’t know what you’re doing to me right now.” He peers down at your now highly bare body with more of his hot breath landing on you. As you turned around to face him, he has a full view of your figure. Except for your frilly panties covering your ass, you left nothing to the imagination. You watch as Reigen slowly gazes at every curve and edge of your figure. From the plushness of your lips to the fat on your arms, the fullness of your chest and hardened nipples, to the small of your waist and wide hips you have, to the plump shine of your legs.

“God, you’re so sexy like that. I won’t be able to resist myself anymore.” He spits out. He covers his mouth with his hand as a dark blush envelope both of you.

You place his hand on your cheek and look up, “Then, touch me wherever you want.” You plead with him.

That seems to do the trick. He locks you into yet another feverish kiss as you help him out of his upper garments. He throws his blazer to the side. The pink tie swiftly slips off of him along with the button-up you both work on taking off. You instantly claim the newly exposed skin with your hands as he does to you. You feel the slight sweat on his body and palms as you both explore each other. He keenly grasps your breast once again, and you moan in excitement. He studies your face to see its reaction as he toys with both of your hardened nipples in between his fingers. He leans down and pops one into his mouth while continuing to play with the other. You rake your nails down his back, which causes his teeth to graze over the areola, sending electricity down your spine and heat through your core. You arch your back and lightly pant from the sensation.

Reigen comes back up with a pop that echoes throughout the room. He groans in approval. You were on fire with lust at this point. Needing relief, you grabbed his chin and lean into him.

“Reigen,” You mewl in his ear, “I’m gonna be honest with you. I'm really fucking wet right now and I might die if you don't do something about it asap.”

You swear you feel Reigen slightly jump into you in response. Suddenly in one fluid motion, he squats down, picks you up by your middle, and lifts you. Instead of dropping you, he carries you to the bed and softly presses you into the sheets. He sits back up and catches his breath, wiping the sweat off his brow. You raise your eyebrow, waiting for his response.

“I can uh, definitely do that for you. Now, is that a comfortable position for you?”

You gulp and nod your head. You rub your thighs together in anticipation as you realize just how wet you are. Your underwear feels slick against your heat due to how sodden it is. You whimper a little from the sensation as Reigen perks up from your sounds. He also craves more of you as you do him. He’s about to show you how serious he is about this.

“Great. Can I take this off?” Reigen gently asks, standing over you from the bed. You hold your breath and nod as his skinny fingers instantly hook around your panties. You feel the garment slowly slide down your legs, closing them to not reveal to Reigen how wet you are. You watch as he tosses them to the side and looks at you with a confused look.

You’ve grown a little nervous now, biting your lip and looking away from him to not reveal anything. It’s embarrassing that you didn’t think about this until after the man has you stripped down to the tee: you haven’t shaved in a bit. It’s not too bad, but it would be enough to ruin his night if he’s into bare skin only.

“Um, I haven’t… I haven’t shaved in a few-”

“A real man hunts through the jungle.” He deadpans.

“H-huh?”

“You heard me. I take pride in… well, you’ll see. But you won’t see if you’re like this.” Reigen sighs, gesturing to your body and slightly pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back to you. “What I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t matter to me if you have or haven’t.”

On his immediate response and genuine tone, you could tell he was serious. Of course, you still wanted to do this, but still, your thighs rubbed together, causing you to blush even harder. You feel his thumb gently on the plumpness of your calf.

“Relax. Open sesame.” He softly orders, raising an eyebrow. “Will you do that for me, darling?”

You swallow thickly. Now that you think about it, it’s him. The psychic before you sweats a little excessively and has the least business casual socks you’ve ever seen. You trust him, nod back to him, and begin spreading your legs. He smirks in satisfaction, blushing deeply.

“I’ll show you how much that means to me.” He soothed.

He grips both inner thighs and spreads them for a full view, causing you to bite your lip and squirm under his gaze.

“Wow,” Reigen stammers, “you weren’t kidding when you said wet.”

Reigen admires as your cunt glistens in the moonlight. Its illumination makes your juices almost sparkle as it seeps around your lips and down to your ass. “So beautiful.” He thinks out loud.

You feel his hot breath tingle against your heat, causing you to whimper in pure wanton.

“Please, please-” A moan rips through your throat and stops the words in their tracks when you feel Reigen’s hot tongue glide against your inner thigh.

“Relax, I said. I’ll take care of it.” He cooes, wanting to let his mouth do the talking.

His fingers keep a hard grip on the hamstrings of your legs, not letting them close in again. His tongue traces shapes and squiggles around the skin of your inner legs–slowly reaching their way toward your pussy. You start panting in anticipation. What a fucking tease he was. The psychic knew just what to do for you to want him more.

Your hips buck up trying to meet his lips, but to no avail. You groan in frustration, cursing the grip he had on your thighs. Your pussy throbs with the need for him to go further. He gets the hint, however.

“So needy!” He playfully huffs. God, he’s a piece of work.

Your thoughts are cut short as Reigen’s tongue traces one line from the bottom of your slit, to the tip of your clit. An inhumane noise spills off of your tongue and you unconsciously wrap your calves around Reigen to envelop him. He returns to the bottom again, tongue practically gliding in and out of your folds. There was little to no friction due to how wet you’ve gotten. He’s tasting all of you with one motion.

He flattens his tongue out on top of your clit. His right-hand releases the hold on your leg as it traces around your slit. With his fore and middle finger, he squeezes your labia, sandwiching your clit between them. With his now pointed tongue, he explores the bud with urge, keeping steady eye contact with you while doing so. You tremble under him, fisting his hair.

He begins a relentless pace on your sensitive bud. Electricity runs down your spine as you buck your hips into his face further. He already buried his face into your heat, lapping up all of your juices and slowly building up those white, hot coils of pleasure you’ve been craving. With the pace he’s going, you aren’t too far off.

Reigen's dark brown eyes study you during this. He wants to enjoy every reaction, every moan, every pant that you make under his touch. Your responses help him see what certain angles and touches get you undone. With a sweaty forehead, he quickly brushes the hair out of the way as you admire him. He looks so beautiful like this.

You whip your head back in bliss, unapologetically basking in your arousal. Fisting his hair, you use it to guide him in all the right spots faster, quicker. He looks at you, with a darker blush covering your face as moans and whimpers come out of plump, parted lips. He could tell your close too, and strategically laps it up like a madman.

You come undone further when he dips two long fingers inside your folds, curling in and out at a dizzying rhythm. He perfectly reaches the gummy spots inside you and pumps into them with vigor. His tongue increases its pace, creating sloppy sounds on your swollen clit from his spit and your juices. All the stimulation he’s given and the hard eye contact he’s given you this whole time is starting to unravel you. It was becoming enough to climax you right then.

“F-fuck, Reigen!” You start to lose your composure, mewling his name over and over as your grip on his hair trembles and your legs start to spazz. Your hips sporadically jerk all over Reigen’s face as you ride out your orgasm. Your back arches, seeing hundreds of stars in your vision, and shockwaves grip your body. You sing his name one last time like it’s honey on your tongue as your entire body goes limp.

You go completely still, basking in the afterglow from Reigen’s work. You’re guessing that his way of saying that he was rusty earlier was a cop-out. He was way too skilled for his own good. Frankly, if this is his version of being rusty, you are nervous about what he’d be like if he brushed up more on his game.

After a moment, Reigen comes back up and looks at you, finally pulling his fingers out of you.

“Holy crap! You came pretty quickly.” You glance at his face. Different types of juices from your pussy and his mouth have covered his whole face and dripped down his chin. His hand is floating in the air, with fingers covered in some of your creamy, sticky substance.

“No shit. You’re really good at that.” You cooed, sitting up.

“Of course. I take pride in all of my abilities.” He smirks.

He lays his fingers on your bottom lip, inviting you to suck on them. Looking deep into his eyes, you do so graciously. You messily lick it up, tasting the tanginess you’ve made. He seems pretty satisfied with this.

You just now notice the ache in his pants. Under his suit pants, his throbbing dick is almost begging to be let out. He notices you staring right at the tent, causing him to palm it for some release. His face slightly scrunches up, and you realize he needs this as much as you do.

“What do you want to do now, Reigen?” You roll his name on your tongue like butter.

His lips meet yours, causing you to taste yourself once again and focus straight on Reigen when he pulls away.

“I want to see you, I want to see you come,” He says shamelessly staring at your body. His hot breath dances over you.

You pretend to ponder his request, acting like you have to consider if you want to or not. “Hmm. I think we can work something out.” You respond, seeing some relief washing over his body.

With grace, you start undoing his belt for him. You unbuckle it, tossing it over with the other abandoned garments. He finishes the rest, shimmying off the suit pants and boxers, giving you a very generous view of what he was hiding.

You gulped at the girth of his cock. Under the shine of moonlight, you can see the length is average but very thick in girth. The tip was pink with a shaft decorated with several veins. Honestly, it doesn’t match up with the skinny build he has, but you weren’t complaining. Reigen watches as you lick your lips, telling him you like what you’re seeing.

The first impressions of his freed member completely distracted you from those socks again. Now without his pants covering them, you see that his socks are abnormally long. They go halfway up to his calves. You blink in disbelief. Bro what.

“Again, nice socks. You keepin' them on?” You tilt your head in confusion. If he didn’t just finish giving you the best head in ages, you would have really questioned why you brought this man here. You really couldn't take mismatched monkey and banana socks seriously.

“Yup, they bring me good luck. Take this night, for example, that’s what attracted you to moi, correct?” His eyelashes playfully flutter as he flamboyantly gestures to them. He sits down on the bed, adjusting himself to directly face you.

You scoff at him and roll your eyes, trying to take him down a few pegs. “Yeah,” you giggle, “something like that.”

“Hah, that’s what I thought!” He suddenly takes the meat of your hips and pulls you towards him, causing you to gasp.

Your back falls against the bed, as Reigen sits over you.

“So, are you gonna show me what a psychic’s real powers are?” You jokingly purred.

“Only if you want me to, pretty girl.” He sits over you, rubbing the bottom of your cheek.

That’s all you want at this moment. He pulled you in the perfect position for him to sheath himself inside you at any point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please do, I need you inside me.” You beg him. Reigen steals your lips then in another steamy kiss, both of your bodies pressed together. His skin is warm against yours, feeling his cock rub right against you.

He pulls away and travels down your body in kisses and bites. He takes a few moments to suck the flesh around your breasts, leaving a few lovebites dancing around on your skin. When he reaches your legs, he takes both and gently places them on his shoulders.

Oh fuck. He was about to destroy you with this position.

He takes his cock, rubbing it up and down against your entrance to coat himself in your juices, earning a delicious whimper from you. He couldn’t help but admire the lewdness on your face. You look so beautiful like this to him. With one last question of consent and you nodding, he lines himself up with your entrance and tenderly pushes it in.

The feeling of him stretching you is so sensual, you start to hiss as you feel him inch by inch. You trembled, feeling your walls stretch farther than they’ve had before, taking a while for you to adjust. Every single inch you take in makes you want him more. You and Reigen both share a sigh of pleasure the deeper he plunges in, a deep blush speckling both of your skins.

“Fuck… hah, that's good. You have… no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” He grunts. His voice felt like a drug to you. He finally sheaths himself in you, feeling dizzy by how you swallowed him up with such warmth. He couldn’t control himself anymore.

“Show me then, Ara-AH!” You gasped as he suddenly pulls out just to hilt himself again, urgently. Seeing how well you’ve taken him, he continues with a raw, languid pace of pumps into your core.

Indescribable pleasure fills your body like electricity as your back arches. You feel stars each time he pulls out just to thrust himself back in again. Still, you haven’t fully adjusted to his girth, turning you into a moaning mess. You try to cover your mouth to stop the unholy noises from coming as your body clamps down around him. To no avail, you can’t even bite down on your lip to stifle them. You look at him, admiring the sweat running down his forehead as he lets out breathy groans and grunts from above. You grab onto his arm, nails digging into his flesh as you shudder from his girth. His face contorts into one of pure pleasure at each pump he dishes out to you, his hips powering the movements with vigor.

Your toes curl at the delicious sensation that you feel each time he fills you up. As pleasure takes over pain, you were desperate to move along with him. Unfortunately, your legs that are wrapped over his shoulders pinned you against him and the mattress, making it hard to move them against his firm shoulders. Your hips slightly roll up, bucking to meet his, resulting in a shock of pain and pleasure reaching you as he hits your g-spot just right.

You instantly dissolve into pleasure, lewdly reciting his name on your tongue like it was the death of you. With each pump, he was carefully unraveling you into a hot mess as you reached closer and closer to your climax

Against your better judgment, you moan his given name more, followed by a symphony of pleasurable hums and moans.

“Ugh, please say that again.” His pleading voice sounds so angelic, you had to oblige.

“Yes… Arataka. Hah…” You breathily moan.

“Again.” He growls, pulling out and pounding in even harder than before. The room radiates with the clapping of his balls against your wet cunt. Its lewd sounds and a new wave of pleasure from Reigen’s girth puts you into a new wave of existence.

“S-shit!” You follow with even more whines of his name. His pleas to keep you talking have you turned into an incoherent, blubbering mess under him. It was fucking hot being ordered around like this. You wouldn’t be able to resist the climax anymore

He picks up to an unrelenting pace, with his hips snapping up and down relentlessly on your already sore cunt. His hands lock onto the edges of your hips, giving him more force to pound into you. You squint your eyes shut and your knuckles turn white, awaiting the right moment to peak your crescendo. You just needed a little bit more.

In between his thrusts, it’s almost as if Reigen read your mind, knowing exactly what you need. In a slight pause, he praises you. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

His words push you over the edge. You thrash under his body, the orgasm taking over your entire being. You silently scream in pleasure with the widest mouth you could muster. You clamp around his member as spasms radiate throughout your body. Reigen’s breath hitches, watching the angelic show you’re giving him and almost stopping from how hard your walls have started squeezing around him. It flared a newborn vigor for him, however, as he tries to jackhammer through to his end.

After the first few seconds of the first wave, you whimper numerous profanities and praises on your tongue, barely registering what you are saying. You feel almost drunk off of Reigen’s touch, bucking up for more satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the show you’ve been giving Reigen sure has done well. He calls your name in pleasure, looking down at your flushed face as he also starts to slowly teeter over the brink of cumming. His pace is relentless, trying to chase of own end.

At times like this, you think it’d be good to give some words of encouragement. “Please, cum for me, Arataka.”

His damn explodes, shooting ropes of white hot cum inside of you. Reigen weakly rides it out, giving airy moans with each mindless thrust. Your walls milk every last drop of his seed that he has to offer to you, as his hips violently sheath into you once last time.

His body quakes under you as he also goes limp. He practically falls on top of you, your tits giving him a perfect cushion to rest his head upon. You gracefully accept, however, enveloping his sweaty body and damp hair around your arms.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, amazed with each other and yourselves for what a mixer night has brought. There’s nothing in the air for a while except for the two of you breathily recovering in your afterglow.

You mindlessly run your fingers through his dampened hair, fully satisfied by what this man had to offer to you. He put that work in, which was highlighted by the ripeness of his sweat.

After the silence of the night takes over, and you both have recovered from your climaxes, you look at his face, softly giggling when you see he’s been peeking up at you this whole time.

“Yeah. Not too fucking bad for a night, Mr. Psychic.” You purr to him.

“You said it, alright.” He responds, brushing the remaining strands of hair on your forehead. He pauses, “Y’know, if you ever want more of my services, definitely call whenever you need a, uh- spirit exorcism. I always treat my clients well.”

“I’m sure you do, Reigen.”

------

Part 2 here!

ao3 | tiktok | kofi | masterlist

#reigen arataka #mob psycho reigen #reigen arataka x reader #mp100 #mp100 reigen #mob psycho 100 #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #fanfic #my fanfic

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atinyniki · 1 year ago

Text

just kiss me already!

group: stray kids !

pairing: nonidol!bangchan x f!reader

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive at the end

warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, fighting (verbal), 3racha chan (songs unreleased), friends with current skz members, suggestive

authors note: this shit actually sucks but i tried even tho i had no motivation. ill make another chan fic soon to compensate. this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 2858

“oh my gosh you bitch”

“hey! don’t call me a bitch just because you suck at the game”

you haven’t one a single game against chan since he came over.

“i don’t wanna play anymore”, you say with a pout.

“awh come onnn don’t be a sore loser”, he smirks.

it’s not that you don’t wanna play because you’re losing, you just don’t want to play because you both have been at it for four hours.

“let’s watch a show instead!”

“fine, but i’m choosing.”

it’s pretty easy to get chan to do what you want. you’re his weakness, he’ll do anything to make you happy to be honest. you never seem to notice the way he looks at you, or how much he tries to get your attention.

on the other hand, you absolutely adore chan. not just the way he looked, even though he is incredibly beautiful, but you admire how caring he is. at first it was just minor attraction, but then you got closer and well… you know.

neither of you realize you’ve loved each other for so long.

“chan? can you come over please? it’s important”

“yeah of course i’m on my way”

within the next two minutes he was in front of your door. “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

you laugh a little when you see the look on his face. “chan i’m fine, i just need help.”

“so you made me run all the way here for nothing?

you drag him to the kitchen and close the door behind you, rolling your eyes. “i never asked you to run here dumbass. you literally live next door”

chan walks into the kitchen and freezes when he sees the state of it. bowls everywhere, flour and batter scattered all over the countertop, and an assortment of cookie cutters placed next to the stan mixer.

“listen, i really need to make two hundred cookies within the next two hours. my oven can’t hold more than twenty four at a time. could you maybe bake like half of them in your oven?”

“why would you need two hundred cookies…?”, he asks incredulously.

“it’s my friends birthday tomorrow. she loves these cookies”

“oh jeez… okay fine. how long do i need to bake them for?”

“twenty six minutes…”

“yes ma’am, ill be on my way then”. he quickly grabs the trays of cookies and gives you a peck on your forehead, lips lingering for a second too long, and runs back to his house.

you could still feel his lips on you, but you continued swapping out trays in hopes to distract yourself.

chan didn’t burn a single cookie. your friend loved them.

“hyung come on! don’t be a wuss”, jisung pouts.

“no jisung. not happening”

“hey well you’re the one that chose dareeee”,

“fine i’ll just take a shot.”

the entire circle broke out into disappointed groans, but you decided to move on from chan.

“y/n! truth or dare”

you jerk your head towards lily, “what? who said it’s my turn?!”

“me. now answer”, lily says a matter-of-fact-ly

“fine. dare”

“you. chan. seven minutes in heaven. right now.”

you look over to chan, silently asking for permission with your eyes despite how nervous you look. you know you don’t have to do anything but… what if he wants to? no. he would never. he doesn’t like you like that.

both of you get up and walk into the room, and changbin quickly turns the lights off and leaves.

“do the lights really have to be off?”

chan walks over to the light switch, hands fumbling to find the knob. he slowly turns it so that the lights are dimmed, but enough so that you both can still see.

chan walks over to the bed, patting the part of the bed next to him and inviting you to sit down. you silently walk towards the bed and sit down, instantly covering yourself with the blanket.

“it’s freezing in here… how does seungmin survive in a room like this?”

“hm… no wonder his personality is always so cold.”

you both laugh a little at chans comment. seungmin has a thing for tormenting chan. subconsciously, you cuddle up to chan, still shivering a bit from the cold.

he seems to get the memo, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. moments of silence pass, and it’s been far too long without a sound for it to not be awkward.

suddenly, chan feels a weight on his shoulder and turns to look at it. you’re sound asleep, he accounts it to either your tipsiness or your exhaustion from working all day.

he holds your hand for a bit, the warmth of it passing through your whole body and causing you to let out a satisfied hum in your sleep. he grabs his phone to text changbin.

“y/n fell asleep. we’ll be in here for a while if that’s okay. you can continue without us”

“yeah yeah whatever just say you want to make out with her in peace”

“shut up changbin.“

the next morning, you wake up in chans bed. your head starts ringing and you think about what happened the night before. you’re slowly starting to become aware of your surroundings, and the snoring coming from beside you.

“chan. chan wake up”

“mmmhh”

“chan what happened last night”

“hm?”, he says as he finally peaks his head out of the covers.

his senses slowly come back to him, and his face instantly flushes red, the crimson color kissing his collarbone too. you’re dressed in his shirt that’s far too large for you, with a pair of his shorts on. the shirt reaches all the way down to your mid-thigh, even while sitting down.

you look at him, waiting for him to answer. “chan are you okay?”

“hm? oh yeah sorry. nothing happened don’t worry, you were just tired so i brought you home, but you insisted to stay with me”

your face flushes red, and you realize what you’re wearing. you look down, playing with the hem of the t-shirt you’re wearing. “sorry about the clothes by the way, you just looked really cold so i offered them to you”

oh. so he didn’t dress you. thank god. you don’t think you could have faced him if he did. “thank you channie.”

he smiles at you, ears going slightly red at the tips. he doesn’t want to admit what that nickname does to him, especially in your voice. you quickly get out of bed, telling chan you’ll be back soon. you go to your house to get ready for the day.

no matter how much you douse your face in cold water, the red tint doesn’t seem to fade.

“wow chan this is amazing!”

his face goes red as he chuckles, “thank you y/n”

changbin doesn’t fail to notice how shy chan gets around you, but he decides not to talk about it while you’re here. instead, he snickers with jisung in the corner.

“shut up you two. i know what you’re on about”

the both of them instantly sit up straight, going silent.

you continue listening to the rest of the tracks, loving every second of it. you give hums and nods of approval, watching the boys’ faces light up every time.

not too long after, the boys left, leaving just you and chan in his studio. you’re humming along to one of the songs he showed you earlier. he couldn’t help but smile, hoping you wouldn’t notice that it made him just a little bit too happy.

you and chan are sitting on your bed again, watching the new kdrama that just came out. your heart jumped in your chest as you watched the scene intently, the heat of it making your face flush red.

“damn when is someone gonna kiss me with that much passion”, chan jokes. you couldn’t help but laugh. you two have gotten a lot closer recently, and you’ve found out that chan is really into skinship.

he has you cuddled up with him under the blankets right now, your small arms wrapped around his bicep. you look up at him, just to admire him a little as he focuses on the show. what you didn’t expect though, was for him to turn his face only mere seconds later.

only then do you process just how close you are, how your lips are just inches away from eachother. chan seems to notice this too, his hands fidgeting with his drawstrings. he gives you a small smile, and turns his head back to the movie.

you’re probably being delusional, but you swear something had changed in the way he looked at you.

“y/n please, do something. he isn’t listening to us…”

“i’ll be there soon.”

you quickly rush over to chans house, knocking on the door to his studio.

“changbin i said leave me alone.”, chans voice was harsh. youve never heard him sound so aggressive towards anyone, he was normally really sweet. you motion to jisung and changbin to leave the room.

“i got this, it’s okay”, you whisper to them.

“chan it’s me. please open the door”

the door flies open within seconds, and you take in chans state. his hair is a mess, two dark purple splotches under his eyes. there are energy drinks scattered all over his desk, broken pencils and scattered papers.

“what… happened?

chan began to speak, but you cut him off.

“we’re going to bed. tell me what happened there”

“n-no! let me save my work at least.”

you walk in the studio with him, waiting on the couch as he quickly saved his progress. you both walk out the room, entering his bedroom and settling under the sheets.

“go to sleep, ill be here when you wake up.”

you try your best to stay up, but you just couldn’t let yourself. sleep takes over your body, eyes becoming heavy and finally fluttering shut for the night.

you wake the next morning to an unfamiliar warmth. chan has his arms around you, his head buried in your chest. you thought he looked adorable like this, until he looked up at you when he realized you woke up.

his bloodshot eyes stared back up at you, and you began to process the teardrops staining your hoodie.

you don’t say anything more. you just pull him closer, rubbing small circles along his back. “i know you’re feeling overwhelmed right now, but you need to let all this out somehow. if you need someone please call me. you know im always right here”

chan doesn’t respond, he didn’t trust his voice enough. his body trembled in your hold, nuzzling his nose into the comforting warmth of your chest.

once he’s calmed down a little, he looks up at you again. you stare at eachother for a good while, just like you did when you watched that movie. there was something different swirling in his eyes, but you just couldn’t place it.

instead of worrying about that, you quickly placed a peck on his forehead, feeling him relax in your hold. he falls back asleep not too long after. he must have been tired.

“WOOOO!!”

you hadn’t felt so alive in months. you knew it was incredibly childish, but you missed having someone to push you on the swings. chans arms pushed you so high you felt like you could touch the stars.

the moon shines so beautifully, covering the park in a light glow. you looked ethereal, that’s what chan thought at least. your bright smile lit up his whole world, your giggle making his heart flutter. the moonlight hit your face just right, your eyes shimmering in the darkness.

chan gradually slowed your swing down, not wanting you to thrash around.

“done already?”, you say with a pout.

“it’s almost one in the morning, we have to go now”, he pouts back.

you both start walking back from the park, talking about chans plans for the future with 3racha. he seems so passionate about music, his eyes lighting up every time he mentioned changbin and jisung.

you look up at him, smiling a little as how cute he sounded talking about this. he looks down at you, the same unplaceable emotion in his eyes, but you stay there for a little longer.

he smiles at you. you instinctively smile back. his smile puts his adorable dimples on display, and you bring one of your fingers up to poke them. you both break out into a fit of giggles, beginning to walk home again.

time without chan began to feel like time you’ve wasted.

“i’m not leaving”

“chan please. you need to rest”

“jeez y/n, when did you start being so clingy? the only thing i need right now is to finish this. either stay here and shut up or get the hell out. i can’t have you nagging me, this is really important”

in the three years you’ve known chan, you have never once heard him speak like this. not to you, not to anyone. you held your tears in, making sure to hide them from chan before they fell, and darted out the door.

you quickly made your way to your house, stupidly forgetting to lock your door in your upset state. you want to yell at him. not to be mean, but just to get it in his damn head that you care about him. you wish he’d just understand.

you clutch your sweatshirt in your hands, the pain in your chest was beginning to get unbearable. you quickly go inside your room and lock the door, flopping onto your bed as sobs rack your body.

not too long after, you hear knocking on your door.

“y/n?”, you hear chan call out for you.

you make your way to the bedroom door, sliding down onto the floor. you don’t think you’re ready to face him yet. “what do you want”

chan was taken aback by the sharp tone in your voice. he knew it was coming, he just didn’t expect it to hurt so bad.

“i’m sorry. i know you only meant good and wanted me to be okay but… i just have so much left to do. i’m overwhelmed and scared im not going to be able to get everything done on time and i lashed out at you. i know that’s no excuse to hurt someone you love but i really didn’t mean it. i’m so-“

“chan you’re rambling again”, you pout.

“oh i’m sorry…”

you quickly open the door, helping chan off of the floor. you quickly bring him to your bed and force him to lay down. “sleep. please”

he could tell you’ve almost lost your patience, so he huddles up closer to you and lets sleep overtake his body. “goodnight y/n. thank you”

today, you wake up to a different sight than usual. normally, chans face is buried in your chest or he’s hugging you from behind. this time was different. he was mere centimeters away from you, nose brushing against yours.

you quickly shut your eyes, hoping you didn’t go red at just the sight of him.

not too long after, chan wakes and gets ready for the day, coming back into your home to see you already awake.

you were dressed in a large grey t-shirt. you don’t quite remember where it came from, but it’s incredibly comfortable.

chan recognizes it instantly. it’s the shirt he gave you the first night you slept over at his house. his heart swelled at the sight, wishing he could see you in his clothes everyday.

without a second thought, he quickly runs towards you, sitting on the bed right next to you again. he’s looking at you the same way he has been for the past couple months.

this time around though, he does something different. his hand makes his way up to cup your cheek, his big hands swallowing some of your jawline too.

he slowly moves his face closer to you, now only inches away from your lips. your heart rate quickens, feeling his breath fan over your lips.

“chan, just kiss me already. please.”

he tentatively moves closer, not getting a chance to process before you crash your lips into his. it’s a kiss of pure want and need. “fuck y/n. i’ve been waiting to do this for so long”

“i love you channie”, you whispered breathlessly.

a flip switched inside of him, immediately pushing you down onto your back while he hovered over you. he kisses at your jawline, red marks appearing all over your neck. “i love you so much baby”, he says in between kisses.

you couldn’t hold back your whimpers, the feeling was too much for you to handle. all of a sudden, you heard a loud ringing.

chan picked up his phone, sounding a little aggravated. “hello?”

“chan where are you?”, jisung asked him

“i’m with y/n. we’re watching a movie. why?”

“oh sorry my bad. have-“

he hung up before jisung could finish, eager to get back to you.

“now, where were we?”

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids angst #skz fanfic #skz bang chan #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #stray kids x y/n

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mystverse · 2 months ago

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SMAU REC LIST² - SKZ, NCT, ENHA

THE ART OF LOVE : : @lxvemaze

PAIRING. bangchan x shy!artist!reader

✿SYNOPSIS. when chris texted an artist he found on instagram with the hopes of them designing an album cover for him, he never expected to fall head over heels in love with them.

NERF THIS! : : @injvns

progamer!haechan x streamer!femreader

in which overwatch streamer yn ln is on a winning streak one night, and sorta kinda ends up killing professional overwatch player lee haechan on stream…multiple times. she didn't even know who he was, let alone that he was super hot?! c'mon, she wouldn't have smoked him THAT hard if she knew!

yn starts overwatch beef with haechan accidentally. romance ensues.

HOW NOT TO BE A VIRGIN 101 : : @diaphamin

summary : college is about gaining further education, to some, but to y/n it means she is finally free to explore the side of life she was never able to. parties, relationships, and sex. she was tired of being dull, tired of being the only one around her who hasn’t experienced anything romantic. she was ready to be the exact opposite of what she wasn’t. the only problem being… she doesn’t know how. that’s when she calls upon haechan, someone notoriously known for having a bit too much fun… and asks him for guidance.

WHERE YOU ARE : : @luvmahae

pairing: fratboy!haechan x fem!reader

summary: what the absolute fuck is up baby! fall semester marks the peak of greek life at ncu. the campus quad is filled with tents representing various fraternities and sororities with their letters proudly presented in front of each booth, all eager to recruit new members. as students return to campus, they are met with a flood of fliers and invitations to parties, mixers, and rush events. while you were walking through the crowd of eager freshmen to join these organizations, you bumped into someone very unexpected...

what do you do when you bump into the guy you hooked up with after a music festival during summer break? instead of the royal blue basketball jersey you first met him in, it was replaced by a varsity jacket with the letters reading "ΝΧΘ".

"haechan?"

BED CHEM : : @wonbin-truther

college student yn x college student jaemin

summery! when jaemin saw the big red "16%" on his first organic chemistry test, he knew he needed a tutor, fast. enter l/n y/n, a chemical engineering student who is determined to raise his grade. but as study sessions turn into late-night library marathons, jaemin is starting to realize he’s got more than just organic chemistry to worry about.

GOOD GRACES : : @106alibi

pairing: boxer!jeno x magazine-editor!reader

synopsis: y/n knows she's petty. so when she found out her (secret) celebrity boyfriend of a year had been cheating on her, through a news article to make things worse, she decided to cook up an action plan to get back at him, and what better way to take revenge than to get together with his all-time favourite athlete?

LEFT ON SEEN : : @jsbluu

pairing: dance major!jisung x environmental scientist fem!reader

you, a first year college student at ncit university, "stumble" upon the twitter account of your campus crush, park jisung. you've had a crush on him since your junior year of high school, but he always seemed to have a flock of girls chasing after him.

out of a boost of confidence (and maybe a little too much to drink), you decide to send him a dm. what's the worst that could happen? he has thousands of followers, it's not like he's ever gonna see it.. right?

wrong! will jisung reply to you and fall in love? or will you just become another girl lost in his dms. read to find out!

SCUM'S WISH 𓆩♡𓆪 : : @jungaji

pairing: park jisung x fem!reader

synopsis: struggling with unrequited feelings, you and park jisung agree to a fake relationship to ease your loneliness, filling the gaps left by others. with promises not to fall for each other and to part ways if your affections are reciprocated elsewhere, you jump into this arrangement. can you both stick to the rules, or will the lines between pretense and reality blur?

or, in which you and park jisung turn to each other for comfort in an attempt to soothe your unrequited loves.

FUNERAL PYRE : : @peacheeeliz

PARING ⤏ barista!heeseung x metalhead!fem reader

SYNOPSIS ⤏ heeseung is completely starstruck by the motorcyclist that frequently visits the coffee shop he works at. y/n has no interest in the peppy barista at the cafe she visits after classes. but that doesn't stop him from wanting to get to know her more.

A VIRGIN WHO CAN'T READ : : @luvyeni

starring … park sunghoon ‧ female reader

ㅤ୨ৎ no one in your friend group couldn't understand why you and sunghoon stopped being friends after freshman year of college; they all chalked it up as for reasons only you and he knew about , you and sunghoon couldnt get along, and when he threatened to tell your brother something your deepest darkest secret you called him a virgin who couldn't read to your 24k fans and the name spread throughout the campus…

or in which ‧ a year later sunghoon still holds your secret over your head , claiming “future blackmailing” but that's just easier to explain why he's your number one viewer or why he even hated you in the first place …

: MYST - im just using these lists as my library, don't mind me

#myst rec list #stray kids #skz smau #skz #nct dream #nct dream smau #enhypen #enha #enha smau #enhypen smau

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golden-eye-ramblings · 7 months ago

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Orter Madl Headcanon Dump Part 1

IT'S FINALLY HERE. REJOICE. SAND MAN MAN ME A SAND MANSAND. GIF CREDIT ONCE MORE TO @fallinblossoms

----

Orter Madl

Height: 5'9/177cm

Age: 23

Birthdate: November 10th

Sign: Scorpio

Gender: Cisgender(?).

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Aroace

• Where oh where to begin with this man's issues. For starters, "functional" alcoholic. While he does not drink on the job(he has some standards), he does go bar hopping quite frequently after work. Oh you think he has everything together? HA. No, absolutely not.

• His desk and office at work is perfectly contained, neat and orderly but good GOD his home is a NIGHTMARE. Stacks of books, paperwork, bottles of booze both empty and not. Take out containers. Sorry girlies he is peak burnout male living space.

• He does not have a favorite food. If anything, his ideal food is a flavorless nutrition brick that has all the required vitamins and sustenance a human needs to survive. Alas no restaurant has been able to accommodate his request.

• Gifted child syndrome no doubt. My man has undiagnosed autism that was not addressed cause he was the favorite and it has put a strain on his relationships with his family. He's not good speaking terms with his father but will attend gatherings out of obligation(and on the low chance to see Wirth).

• Speaking of Wirth. Orter is a bit of a brocon? Not to the extent of Lance. He struggles to try and reconnect with his younger brother and has been making attempts but both of these idiots are so emotionally constipated that it takes outside intervention for them to finally make up. From there Orter just, cannot say no to Wirth. Like he's trying to make up for lost time. Feels like daggers digging straight into his heart when Wirth gets upset with him because he's lowkey afraid of becoming estranged again. Their relationship is getting better though, although Wirth now wishes Orter would stop being such a helicopter parent all of a sudden.

• As for relationships romantically? No, absolutely not. Nope, no, nada. Nah man. Any time his coworkers try to invite him to a date mixer he peace fades into sand and leaves. Any time his father tries to set him up with a potential spouse suddenly he has so much work to do. He doesn't get it. He doesn't understand. It's a hassle and he wishes people would leave him alone about it.

• Terrible with kids. Has no idea how to handle a crying child. Probably the one who made the kid cry in the first place because his Resting Bitch Face is so intimidating. No one is happy.

• Sometimes forgets to sleep/eat whenever he's caught up in work or in a good book. The other DVs sometimes place lunches on his desk for this reason.

• In terms of closeness with the other Divine Visonaries. He is on friendly(as friendly as Orter can really be) terms with Ryoh and Kaldo, is amicable with Rayne, Sophina and Tsurara, neutral with Agito and very much dislikes Renatus(the feeling is mutual).

#mashle magic and muscles #mashle #orter madl #I procrastinated the Orter headcanons for like a good month and a half and the first thing I do is immediately drag his ass through the dir #LMAO #I love him but I just know for a fact mr. serious and adamant is just a big loser failman when he's not working #social skills nada #“how big is that dick” “small leave me alone”#ryoh grantz #kaldo gehenna #sophina biblia #tsurara halestone #rayne ames #agito tyrone #renatus revol #he's cool and all but I think it's funnier if he's actually just as stupid as everyone else #enjoy longer form headcanons sweaties!! mwah mwah wanted to add more since I took so long to get to him #wirth madl

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beardedjoel · 2 years ago

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closer | part fourteen

joel x f!reader. non-apocalypse au

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: a run-in at the local bar almost ends in disaster, but luckily joel knows just how to make it better afterwards. 10k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), soft!dom joel, posessive!joel, vibrator usage, unprotected piv, dirty dirtttty talk, praise kink, cockwarming for two (2) minutes exactly, orgasm denial, insecure idiots who help each other, consumption of alcohol (both reader and joel), reader is threatened (not by joel), reader’s outfit is described (black dress and sneakers).

You chew on the end of your pen, tapping your fingers on your desk impatiently before reaching back down to your keyboard and typing, releasing a little sigh.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Joel calls from the bathroom. He’s been working on retiling the shower in your bathroom at your parents’ request all morning, and you’re keeping him company while getting some work done.

“Just this… desk. It’s so small,” you gripe, hovering your hands over it in frustration at the amount of things you have laid out on it that simply don’t fit. Along with your laptop, you have notebooks, office supplies, your planner, and a few knick knacks spread onto the small surface. If you have your laptop out, everything else feels so cramped and it’s starting to grind on your frayed nerves. You’re getting increasingly more anxious about starting this job full time, hoping you can live up to whatever expectations they have of you to hire someone straight out of school for a relatively important job.

“I see that,” Joel says, smiling a little to himself at how cute you look when you’re mildly frustrated like this as he takes a few moments to watch you. “I’ll make ya a new one,” he says casually, as if he’s commenting on the weather. Your eyebrows fly together in confusion, and you swivel in your chair to look towards him in the bathroom.

“M-make me a desk? What?” you ask him, blinking a few times. There’s no way you heard him correctly.

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“A whole desk?”

“Yes, what aren’t we gettin’ here?” he asks, standing and leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom, looking at you. The sight makes your knees want to wobble, and you’re already sitting down. “I like woodworkin’. Pretty good at it too,” he tells you with a modest shrug.

You gape your mouth open a little, processing his offer. “No Joel, I don’t think I can let you do all that for me.”

“And why not?”

“That’s too much, okay?”

“C’mon, darlin’. For your new place when you get it,” he pleads, a hopeful look on his face.

You press your lips together, bite your lip quickly and find yourself lost in his dark eyes, looking at you with ease and expectation. “Fine,” you say, crossing your arms. You don’t want to sound ungrateful, but it feels like so much work to let him do for you, even if he does enjoy woodworking as a hobby.

“Oh, ‘fine’? You’re too much, girl.” Joel shakes his head and starts taking steps closer to you. “Ain’t gonna say ‘thank you Joel’, ‘you’re the best, Joel’?” he says as he stands above your chair, grasping the back of your head and leaning down, his lips hovering right above yours.

“Thank you, Joel,” you say quietly, and he smirks, his lips pressing onto yours for a long moment. “You’re the best, Joel,” you add on with a smile of your own.

“Good girl. You’ll love it,” he concludes about the desk, stepping back and heading over to the bathroom again, where you hear him start to work on pulling tiles off once more.

You turn back to your computer, sorting through some emails - from your new coworkers, department, bosses. There is an energetic buzz to all of them, everyone excited to finally be hitting the ground running with the company and opening up the office. One particular one catches your eye from the CEO of the company, inviting everybody to a mixer coming up in a few days for everyone to begin meeting in person and get to know each other. People will be slowly moving into the office as early as next week, you remember, so it’s probably a good idea to have everyone start to get on good terms with each other.

“There’s a mixer thing happening soon for my work, so people can meet,” you announce out loud to Joel, who gives an attentive hum in response.

“Sounds fun. You gonna go?” he asks as he works.

“Maybe…” you trail off, suddenly feeling nervous at the prospect. You stand up and walk over to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway and watching Joel work. “Seems like it could be a lot of people,” you say, nervously fiddling your hands.

“Well, you’re gonna be workin’ with those people, right? Gonna have to meet them sometime,” Joel says casually, not taking his eyes off the tile wall he’s working on.

“Very true,” you sigh, stepping a bit closer to him. “I just want to make a good impression.”

Joel shoots you an incredulous look. “I’d say it’s impossible for you to not make a good impression.”

“I don’t know about all of that,” you say with a chuckle.

“Worked on me,” Joel replies with a smug grin.

“I was a total mess when we met, and still am most of the time,” you say.

Joel shrugs again. “I liked it,” he says simply. “Don’t worry, darlin’, you’ll be just fine. People will like you, I promise,” he adds on more reassuringly. You give him a small, tight lipped smile, still feeling nervous, but appreciative of his words.

Watching him work has been a slippery slope for you. It’s enough to just feel his presence in the other room while he’s been doing work on your parents house, but to watch him is something else entirely. He’s wearing a plain white undershirt and light wash jeans, worn with age and construction sites. There’s always a bead of sweat glistening somewhere on him when he’s hard at work, and you get to see his muscles strain and pop as he angles himself in all different kinds of ways. It’s mesmerizing, and you can hardly stand to stay and watch him for very long before feeling a bit too worked up.

You close the gap between you two before placing your hands on his shoulders, and he stiffens before quickly melting into the touch as you start kneading lightly.

“Sweet girl…” he coos quietly, trying to continue prying tiles off of the wall despite the major distraction you’re imposing.

“You work too hard,” you tell him, deepening your massaging of his shoulders a bit. Joel groans in pleasure as your hands work his shoulders. He’s learned that the simplest touch from you can set him off completely, and then he can think of nothing other than getting you naked and moaning in one way or another.

“Baby…” he says, taking a breath. “Gotta get this work done.”

“It’s my bathroom, I don’t care,” you say alluringly in a half whisper, wrapping your arms around his chest.

“Your parents’ll think I’m a delinquent if I don’t make any progress on this,” he says jokingly, a little twinkle in his eye.

“Aren’t you one, though? Fucking their daughter in secret, making her come every chance you get?” You lean down and kiss his neck, and he groans out through gritted teeth.

“God, so fuckin’ needy, baby. Bet you’re already wet aren’t ya?” Joel breathes out, evidently already losing control.

“So wet… fucking soaked, and I need you,” you whimper near his ear, and you can see him warring with himself on what to do next as he shuts his eyes with a long exhale.

“Stop it, sweetheart,” he finally says sternly, his eyes flying back open. “Be a good girl and control yourself while I finish what I gotta do in here.”

You twist your lips to the side and pout lightly, giving him a final peck on the neck and pulling back. You understand where he’s coming from, but it doesn’t mean the rejection doesn’t sting a little. You really have a love/hate relationship with how god damned horny Joel makes you all the time.

He’d fucked you on his quick break up here yesterday, leaving you still panting in your bed before he headed back to work, so you thought today could have a similar outcome. You don’t want to be a distraction and upset him, though, so you slink out of the room and head back over to your pitifully small, cramped desk and try to focus on work. You hear Joel aggressively pulling tiles, a few frustrated sighs escaping him. Not even a few minutes later, his voice calls out.

“Go to your drawer and get yourself a toy,” he says simply, and you stiffen in your chair before standing up.

“Uh, okay…” you say hesitantly, rushing over to your nightstand and opening the drawer. You pick a vibrator with a large head, feeling like you need the extra power right now.

“Come over to the doorway,” Joel says as his next command, and you blindly follow. As you stand anxiously peering at him, he throws you a glance and then a small smirk as you hold your vibrator, awaiting his next words with spellbound eyes.

“Get yourself naked, darlin’, and lay down right there where I can see you.” His eyes motion to the ground right where the main room meets the bathroom, a perfect angle for him as he works next to the bathtub.

You gulp, anticipation overtaking you as you pull down your shorts and underwear clumsily before tearing your shirt over your head and getting down on the ground. You lay with your legs open, dripping pussy on full display to him. He sighs painfully as he sees it - swollen, throbbing, and ready for him. He wants nothing more than to rush over and bury his cock in it, but for some reason he’s feeling the shame today of needing to get this job done for your parents. Maybe it’s his way of making it up to them for secretly fucking their innocent little daughter and turning you into such a cock obsessed fiend. The thought alone sends another twitch into Joel’s pants, his jeans tightening.

“Okay, baby, let me see you come for me, I’m gonna keep workin’, but come as many times as you can with your little toy. I’ll be right here, listenin’ and watchin’ every bit.”

You lick your lips, and lay back, not completely satisfied with this arrangement but you’ll take what you can get. He can always make it up to you later, you think with a coy turn of your lips.

“Can you… uh,” you start, feeling a bit awkward and self conscious in the harsh lighting of the bathroom that’s spilling out onto your bare body.

“Yes, darlin’… what is it?”

“Maybe say some stuff to get me going?”

Joel chuckles heartily, and you hear the noise of another tile coming off.

“You tellin’ me you need help when your pussy looks so pretty like that already? Fuckin’ drippin’ for me,” he tuts and you feel a slight rush of desire at his words.

“It is, Joel. Just for you. What do you want to do to it?”

“My girl, gettin’ so much more bold with her dirty little mouth,” he says with a smile in his voice. “Wanna stuff you full of my cock, baby, fill you up and fuck you good. Make you scream my name.” Joel ends with a small, husky grunt, and you can tell this is paining him just as much as it is you.

You let out a small moan and turn on the vibrator, moving your hand down between your legs and pressing it against your aching clit. You spill out a sound of relief at the feeling of any stimulation on your pulsing cunt, and push your hips into it.

“Fuck,” you breathe out. Another pop of a tile catches your ears. And another. Somehow your distraction seems to be making Joel work faster.

“God, baby, so pretty right now. My naughty little thing, look how desperate you are for me,” he whimpers, and you hear another tile come off of the wall.

“Fuckin’ d-do anything for your cock,” you cry out, pressing the vibrator harder onto yourself and your legs shake a bit with the oncoming climax. You moan out, hips spasming and writhing as you come, your pussy clenching around nothing, desperately missing Joel’s thickness right now. You breathe heavily, laying back and giving yourself a moment.

“Keep goin,” Joel says casually, scraping at the wall again. You press the vibrator back in place, holding the head of it more lightly to your clit, small moans coming out of you as the pleasure ramps right back up. “You know what happens when you’re a good girl and do as I ask, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod through despondent whimpers. A second orgasm quickly follows the first, and through hooded eyes you can see Joel watching you, writhing on the floor and bucking your hips up into the vibrator as you moan. Your whole body goes limp, and you set your hand to the side of your body with the vibrator, taking a few deep breaths.

“Tell you what,” Joel says, somehow managing to work through all of this despite his cock aching and screaming at him. “If you can make yourself come once more, I’ll give ya what you want.”

You perk up a little despite the pleasure ridden haze you’re in right now. “I-I’ll try,” you push out, doubting it’s even possible right now.

“C’mon baby, by that time I’ll have finished this wall and deserve a break,” he says smugly, and you nod, clicking up the speed on vibrator and bringing it back down. You reach around it with your other hand, burying two fingers inside of yourself and pushing in as far as possible. It’s never the same as when Joel does it, but if you push yourself you can just reach your g-spot.

Yes, you think as the pleasure of finding that spot overwhelms you. You have the head of the vibrator resting just near enough to your clit to give yourself vibration without overwhelming the currently oversensitive nerves.

You moan out strangled cries as you press on your g-spot, and Joel looks on, mesmerized at what a whimpering, moaning mess you are with your hand buried deep inside of yourself.

“F-fuck,” he stammers out, barely able to contain himself. “Christ, baby,” he breathes. In that moment he decides to break his own rule and give you what you want before you complete what he’s asked of you. He can’t take another second of watching you leak all over your own hand instead of his cock.

He sets down his tools, quickly undoing his pants, freeing his throbbing length, and rushes over to you. His hands roughly grab the vibrator, tossing it to the side and he grabs your wrist, your fingers pulling out with the movement. You whimper, the sudden loss of pressure on your g-spot feels devastating, but it’s quickly replaced as Joel positions himself over you and buries his cock inside of you, pushing as deep as he can on the first thrust. You cry out, a loud, strangled noise as he fills you so unexpectedly.

“Oh, Joel, god,” you whine, “You feel so fucking…” you trail off. another moan passing your lips as he pushes into you again and your body adjusts to him.

“Finish the sentence, baby,” he says, thrusting into you again.

“Amazing. You feel perfect,” you manage to stammer out, completely lost in pleasure now.

“My cock fits so perfectly in there, doesn’t it, my perfect girl?” he coos, leaning his body over you to kiss your neck and move his mouth down over your chest.

“Mhm.” You manage to make an affirmative noise, your eyes fluttering closed as you enjoy the rhythmic thrusts of Joel’s cock inside of you as he toys with your nipple with his tongue. This is pure heaven, you’ve decided - you could be happy underneath this man forever. You don’t think it’s possible to belong to anyone else now that you have what he’s given you, and you show it to him now with your body, matching his thrusts with equal vigor, pushing your hips up into him with every one of his movements. Your arms snake around his neck, clinging on and drawing him close as he fucks you into oblivion. You’ve lost track of anything else as his cock angles just right to pick up where you left off on your g-spot, sending you further down the hole of ecstasy you’re falling deeper and deeper into.

“Yes,” you cry out with a whimper, feeling the sweet release of tension quickly approaching in your core. Joel’s arms tuck underneath your knees and bring your legs up higher, and you wrap them around his back, slamming yourself into his hips.

Joel quickly finds release along with you, both of your bodies tensing with the pulses of pleasure as you ride them out together. You moan his name while you feel him coming hard into you, only serving to heighten everything as you feel his warmth spilling into you. He’s buried as deep as he can, up to the hilt, and your cunt squeezes every bit out of him that it can as you continue to spasm around him.

Joel collapses slightly onto you, breathing heavily with his eyes shut. When he opens them and meets your gaze, he smiles before pulling out of you and starting to collect himself. You lay there, a completely undone, sloppy mess because of him, and his smile turns wry at the sight of you below him as he stands.

“Can’t resist ya even when I try,” he says with a small shake of his head.

“You did try,” you say pragmatically. “It’s the thought that counts.” That gets a laugh out of Joel as he runs a hand over his face.

“Christ, baby, what’m I gonna do with you?” he asks, eyes shining with a relaxed haze from his climax. You could answer Joel’s rhetorical questions many ways, but you keep your mouth shut. You stand up off the floor and clean yourself up, getting dressed and letting Joel get back to work.

You bring your laptop over to the entrance to the bathroom, propping it on your lap and sitting your back against the counter in there, just to feel close to him. You two don’t talk much for a while, a few comments here and there while the both of you get your separate work done. Something about it, though, feels perfectly comfortable and natural, and you realize that somehow along the way Joel has become your favorite person to be around.

You two haven’t talked at all about the intimate moment you had on July 4th, but it’s been lingering heavily in your mind for the last few days. You decided that even if your feelings for Joel only seem to keep developing, you just want to try to enjoy these moments with him, be present and not worry about if he feels the exact same way as you. It seemed like there were plenty of unspoken words between the two of you that night, and you feel confident that with time, they’ll manage to work their way out into the open. Patience, you remind yourself, as you glance up at the gorgeous man who by some miracle enjoys spending time with you just as much as you do with him.

A few nights later, It’s the evening of your work mixer, and you’ve debated not going a dozen times, yet here you are, standing in front of the small event center they are hosting it at. You decided to dress relatively casually, putting on a black cotton dress and white sneakers, as it seems like your new company is encouraging a more relaxed work environment.

You stand for a few extra moments, collecting yourself before heading inside. You really do want to meet people from work, but you also want to make a good impression on everyone there since you’ve only communicated via email up until now. Joel has been so supportive over these few days, making sure he tells you over and over just how lovable you are to all of these strangers you haven’t met yet. He offered to be “on call” in case you have some kind of melt down and want to leave early. He said he’d drop whatever he was doing and come pick you up if that was the case. You smile to yourself now as you think back on how intent and serious his eyes had been when he said that, and it gives you a little more courage to step inside the room and face everyone.

The room they’re hosting the mixer in is an open concept with little cocktail tables scattered around and a beautiful, modern bar with warm mood lighting. It feels comfortably cozy, despite the fact that the room has more of an industrial vibe with big columns on the ceiling and cement floors. You immediately head to the bar, scanning the room discreetly as you go, just getting a feel for the atmosphere. They have a wide selection of drinks, so you decide to get a cocktail, something fun and delicious to calm your nerves while you try to start conversations with people.

Everyone you see is wearing a name tag, which was admittedly a great idea to help calm your nerves - this way you’ll know who you’re talking to without any awkwardness. You fill one out for yourself at the bar and slap it on your chest. You spot a young woman, a bit older than you, gorgeous brown curls and olive skin and in a stylish blazer and jeans. You finally get close enough to read the woman’s name tag, spotting the name Rayna Peters, and you smile. She also works in the marketing department, you know, and you’ve spoken a few times through email to bounce ideas back and forth for running the team smoothly together.

“Er, hi,” you say tentatively, clutching onto your glass for dear life. Rayna takes a quick glance at your nametag and breaks out into a huge, warm grin.

“Oh my gosh!” she calls out your name, “So great to meet you.” She extends a hand and you shake it firmly, a smile tugging at your lips now, too.

“You too,” you manage to get out, feeling nervous. “Really cool to meet everyone, isn’t it?” you ask timidly.

“Yeah, this was an awesome idea,” she says, glancing around the room, the epitome of positivity and sunshine. You have a feeling you’ll really enjoy working with Rayna after seeing her personality in the flesh.

“Hey, didn’t you say you moved to Austin for this job in an email when we were introducing ourselves? How are you liking it so far?” she asks you.

“It’s, uh, good so far,” you say, pondering. “I haven’t gotten to do a lot yet, but I bet I’ll explore more when I actually work downtown.” Too busy fucking my incredibly sexy neighbor to really get out much.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve lived here for seven years now, I can tell you all the good spots to go,” she offers, and you’re happy it seems like you’ve made a fast friend, or at least an ally.

“Do you live close by?” you ask, fingers fiddling with your cocktail glass nervously.

“I’m about ten minutes from where our office is, so it worked out perfectly.”

“I still haven’t managed to find an apartment yet,” you tell her, and she cocks her head. “Been starting to look though, so that’s exciting.”

“That’s right, you said you were helping your parents? So you live pretty far out in the burbs,” Rochelle confirms, and you nod.

“Oh! My building has some vacancies, you should totally check it out. It’s a really nice place, and definitely affordable with our pay,” Rayna tells you, beaming at the prospect of you living in the same apartment building as her.

Her words leave you conflicted, debating if you’re really ready to move away from Joel now. You should have known the longer you waited, the worse it would be to not have him right next door to you.

“Yeah, I’ll have you email me the name and I’ll look into it. I guess I’ll want to find something sooner than later when we start working in the office, huh?”

She smiles and nods, then goes to answer when another woman and a man come up to you both. The woman looks to be in her thirties and the man appears closer to your age. They both smile as they introduce themselves despite the name tags - Heather and Cade. They’re part of the marketing team as well, and you instantly recognize their names from emails shot back and forth as well. This is getting a bit overwhelming, but it’s nice to put faces with the names you’ve been hearing.

You run to the restroom a bit later on, finally able to check your phone and see a text from Joel that he’d sent about twenty minutes ago.

Joel: How’s it going baby? Let me know if you need me to come rescue you

You: As much as I’d like that I think I’m making friends

Joel: Proud of you sweetheart. Told you everyone will adore you 😉

You: Talk later?

Joel: Come over if you’re up for it. Taking out the work crew for a few drinks but I’ll be home later on

You: Fun!! Be good 😇

Joel: That’s my line

You smile down at your phone and let out a tight breath, not releasing how much you needed to release a little tension. You step back out and rejoin the small group of coworkers you’d been chatting to, picking up where you all left off. They’re encouraging you to check out the apartment in Rayna's building, saying they all live relatively close by the office as well and it’s going to be a real lifesaver. You feel a small pit growing in your core, though, at the thought. Not even all about being away from Joel, you’ve just grown accustomed to this smaller, simpler lifestyle you’d been living since you moved back here, and you’re worried that downtown might be a larger upheaval than you’re ready for. But you know they’re right, it’ll be good for you to get out, be nearby work, and live on your own.

You meet so many more people from different departments tonight that your head feels like it’s spinning, but maybe that’s just the alcohol, you wonder to yourself. Everyone seems friendly, supportive, and encouraging of each other, and it makes you excited to be entering this new phase of your life, albeit a little sad to officially leave behind your college days and life in Chicago.

A few hours later, it’s getting late by corporate standards, and everyone is starting to trickle out of the event center and head home. You’re ready to call another Uber to take you home to see if Joel is back from his outing yet, but you see he’s texted you again recently.

Joel: Change in plans. come meet me out

You: With everyone from your work? You’re sure?

Joel: You’re too pretty to keep hidden away baby

You: Oooh someone’s tipsy

Joel: If you keep teasing me I’ll smack that pretty little ass in front of everyone here

You: Who says I’m even coming?

Joel: Funny girl, we both know what you’re going to do

You: Head home and go to sleep?

Joel: Think you’re so clever

Joel: Won’t be laughing with my cock shoved in that pretty mouth will you

You gasp slightly, smirking, then take a moment to recover with your smirk quickly fading into a lovesick smile before replying to him. He’s being extra bold through text tonight, he must be a few beers deep at this point.

You: So overdramatic 😉

Joel only responds with the address for the bar he’s at, and you sit and debate for a few moments despite knowing of course you’re meeting him there. This man has the most inexplicable hold on you, and despite your teasing in the texts, there was never really a question in your mind. You need to see him, to feel him, and if he’s asking, you’re not going to say no. So you end up catching an Uber to the location Joel sent you, feeling a nervous flutter at all the possibilities for this night. Is Joel really going to show you off in front of all these people? You honestly aren’t going to complain about getting to spend this time with him unless it was your parents finding out - that you’re not sure you’re ready for just yet.

You open the door to the bar and immediately you can see why they like coming here - it seems relatively low key and easy to unwind together after a long day of work. You think it’s great that Joel spends so much time making sure his employees feel valued by spending this extra time getting to know them, and it’s just another thing about him that makes your heart feel like it’s doing a little flip.

It’s dingy and dark here with cozy lighting and wood surfaces everywhere. You spot Joel sitting at the bar, his back turned to the entrance, and plenty of people who look like they could be his employees scattered around the bar and at nearby tables and booths. Everyone looks to be already having a good time, and you feel completely out of place interrupting them, especially knowing that Joel seems to not care about keeping you a secret tonight. You blow out a breath and clutch your purse a little tighter to your body as you make your way over. You stand behind Joel and face the bar, but he still hasn’t noticed you. You decide to mess with him a bit, and flag the bartender down before ordering a drink. Joel’s head snaps towards you so quickly that you’re concerned for his safety when he hears the sound of your voice.

“Baby,” he murmurs sloppily, and while you’ve never seen Joel completely drunk, a few beers usually loosens him up enough to act a little different than his normal self. You love watching how carefree and relaxed he seems when he’s like this, like the weight of his world is off his shoulders. He tries to hide it, but you can see how the pressure of running his business and keeping his life together affects him sometimes.

You offer up a shy smile, but Joel goes all in, wrapping his arms around you and spinning the barstool back towards the group he had been talking to, pulling you along with him. His smell envelops your senses and it feels so damn good after the long day you’ve had. You have to fight the urge to completely melt into him after only one second in his presence. He tugs your body so that you’re practically on his lap, your ass right in between his legs as he rests his chin on your shoulder and turns his attention back to his coworkers surrounding you. Unfortunately, the conversation they were having is grinding to a screeching halt when they see the way you’re pulled tightly to Joel’s body now. You feel your skin start to warm immediately and wriggle slightly in discomfort despite always loving the way any touch from Joel feels like heaven.

“Hi,” you squeak out after managing to clear your throat. The several men standing there gape for a few moments before offering up their own quiet hellos to you. You tell them your name and receive several awkward replies of their names in return, and you feel your face heat up even further. This has to be the first time they’ve seen Joel act like this with a woman because they’re all maintaining a look of skeptical concern, like they have no idea how to act right now.

“Nothin’ to act weird about, fellas,” Joel says casually, sipping the bottle of beer next to you two on the bar.

“S-sorry,” one of the men who introduced himself as Jeremy stammers. “Nice to meet you,” he says with a more relaxed tone. The others nod their agreement and you all try to fall into a more comfortable flow of conversation, but you can tell that seeing Joel with a woman your age has been startling for them, and they still have an air of walking on eggshells about the situation.

Joel barely seems to notice, keeping his attention half on the conversation as he nuzzles your neck and takes a deep breath in.

“Fuckin’ missed you, sweet little thing,” he says quietly right next to your ear, and it feels like a zap of lightning travels up your spine as you shiver slightly.

You tilt your head slightly towards his and smile timidly at him. “Missed you,” you say back just as quietly.

Another whisper from Joel in your ear makes your knees go slightly weak. “You want me to hold true to my word, right here in front of everyone?”

“J-joel, of course not.” You can feel your cheeks heating all over again. The last thing you want is for Joel to show everyone in this bar your bare ass, although you would be alright with him doing it in private right now with the way he’s already turning you on.

“Hmm, suppose I’ll spare you for right now,” he says, a growing grin coming onto his face and you tense a little at the implication of him doing those things to you later. “Could find another punishment for being such a little brat in those texts, though,” he says, voice low and amused . You feel your toes curl a little and you have to fight to not start grinding into his half hard cock right behind you.

“S-stop Joel,” you reply, your words contradicted by the little smirk on your face. You try to pay attention to the conversation happening right in front of you but it’s hard when Joel is being… well, Joel.

“Okay, baby, just for now,” he says sweetly, resuming his place with his chin on your shoulder, his large arms wrapped completely around your waist not giving you any room to budge. He’s clearly intent on showing this room just who you belong to, and you have absolutely no qualms about it - Joel’s protectiveness and possessiveness is one of the things that turns you on most, even if you worry that it’s not normal just how much you love it. You’d be lying if you said that just the idea of his staking this claim on you to show the whole bar you’re his didn’t have you getting wet already.

Fuck, what a god damned mess you are.

Joel must sense it, because one of his hands begins rubbing your thigh as if to make you feel even more crazy right now. You don’t know if he means to, but it reminds you of one of those first nights you went over to his house, when him touching your thigh had worked you up so much you’d almost wanted to yell. As his fingers brush over the material of your dress and you can feel the warmth of his hand seeping through to your skin, you realize not much has changed in that department. You’re half tempted now to yank him into the bathroom like he’d done to you at Cowgirls and let him have his way with you.

Once his coworkers loosen up a bit, they seem more relaxed and able to make conversation with you - they’re all good natured and funny as far as you can tell. When the topic of your relationship inevitably comes up, one of them even decides to crack a bold joke about the two of you, asking if Joel is your sugar daddy. Joel growls near your ear, but lets it slide with a lighthearted chuckle.

“He is,” you reply brusquely. “Joel makes the big bucks. Even bought me a car last week.” You wiggle your eyebrows in their direction to add effect to your words. Between the drinks you had at the work mixer and the beer you’ve almost finished, you feel pleasant and warm, laughing hard when all the guys surrounding you howl at your joke.

“Yeah, probably some used hunk of junk,” another one of Joel’s employees, Sean, retorts. Joel frowns and narrows his eyes at him, but when you turn your face to glance at him, his eyes have a mischievous sparkle in them as the others continue to chuckle at Joel’s expense.

“Enough teasing my girl, fellas,” Joel concludes, and they all try to quiet down through their laughter. It’s clear that Joel is close with these people, despite being their boss. They feel comfortable enough to poke fun at him like this, and you can appreciate his good attitude about all of it.

“For real, it’s nice to meet you. We didn’t know Joel was… seeing anyone,” Jeremy says. His words give you pause, not really sure if you and Joel are seeing each other. You guess that would be the simplest explanation of it, and from their perspective it sure looks like you and Joel are rather cozy with each other, maybe even in a relationship.

Joel squeezes you a little with the one arm around your waist, his other hand still on your thigh, rubbing rather distracting movements along it. Just as you let out a small, hopefully indiscernible sigh, you catch Chris, Joel’s employee who had worked on your parents’ bathroom, across the way, staring daggers at you two. Shit, you hadn’t even thought of him being here. You swallow uncomfortably and avert your gaze from his as quickly as possible, unsure if you should bring it up with Joel. When you dare to glance back, it seems that he’s torn his gaze away from you and Joel, but he seems to be stewing about it, silently drinking a beer across from another employee of Joel’s.

You forget about Chris’ stare for a while, getting to chat with a few more of Joel’s employees for the next few hours before the night starts to wind down for everyone. Once the awkwardness had fully subsided, everyone was more than kind to you, half of them desperate for any gossip you had on Joel, the other half just interested in trying to hustle you at darts.

When you’ve had enough socializing for the night, you excuse yourself to the bathroom before getting ready to head out, refusing to make eye contact with Chris as you pass in his general vicinity. On the way out, however, he’s waiting impatiently in the hallway right outside the restroom, arms crossed with an indigent expression. He immediately corners you, an intimidating energy radiating off of his large form, causing you to promptly feel like shriveling up.

“You’re not serious, right?” he spits out, looking down on you.

“W-what?” you say, shrinking further onto yourself.

“That’s what was going on huh? Joel? What a fucking hypocrite,” Chris says, rolling his eyes aggressively.

“Chris, I think you n-need to relax,” you say, proud of yourself for trying to de-escalate the situation. Instead, he presses in on you a little more, his brows furrowed tightly.

“Tell me, was he already fucking you when I tried talking to you? That’s why you got all squirrely on me?” His hand reaches up and thumbs your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up as you try to avoid eye contact with him. You don’t like these rapid fire questions one bit, his light slur from drinking only adding to the anxiety rising up at the way he’s getting more frustrated.

“I - I - yes,” you squeak out, “It was b-before all of that, please… s-stop,” you try to explain, although you know that you owe him absolutely nothing. You don’t know what he wants to hear from you or what will get him off your back.

“What do you even want with someone like that? You got a thing for older guys or something? Just a slut for that older dick?” Chris asks with a scoff, looking down at you with an expression that reads as disgust. You scrunch your face up, feeling about half your size as tears creep into the backs of your eyes, desperate to fall. You know what he’s saying isn’t true, but your whole body burns with shame as if you’re doing something completely wrong by wanting Joel the way you do.

“S-stop, I don’t - I don’t have to answer that,” you say, straightening yourself up a bit, but he scoffs again.

“Whatever you want to tell yourself. Can’t believe you’d rather fuck some old, lonely loser,” Chris says, and you realize that this is the real him, the one that comes out when he’s drunk. You’re suddenly very thankful you’d had a good reason to not go out with him, anyways.

“Fuck you,” you spit out, deciding that talking about Joel like that is where you draw the line.

“Would you like that?” he says with a cocky smile now, pressing a bit closer. You feel trapped, willing anybody to walk down this hallway and see how uncomfortable Chris is making you and stop him. You start to squirm more aggressively, trying to slip out from the way you’re pressed against the wall now and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for whatever might come next.

“Hey! What the hell is this?” you hear from afar, a familiar voice cutting through your rising panic.

You open your eyes and look over to see Tommy standing at the start of the hallway leading to the restrooms, hurriedly approaching where you two stand.

“T-tommy,” you say, wide eyed. This isn’t the first time Tommy has caught you in a compromising position, but luckily this time it’s clear this one is very unwanted.

“Alright, kid, let’s back the hell off before you regret it,” Tommy says, grabbing Chris by the shoulder and tugging him hard. You finally have some room to breathe as Chris’ body moves from yours, and your shoulders and chest sag in relief.

“Let’s go talk,” Tommy adds on, trying to give Chris a chance to calm down as he begins pulling him down the hallway. You stand for a few moments, catching your breath, and it hitches as Tommy shoots you a sympathetic look over his shoulder. As you go to follow them and head back over to Joel, he appears in front of Tommy and Chris, looking concerned.

“The hell is goin’ on?” Joel asks, and when he glances past the pair and sees you looking distraught with a heaving chest, tears brimming in your eyes, his fists ball up tightly at his sides. “Oh, I see,” he adds darkly, eyes flicking to Chris’ smug expression. Joel’s pleasant and cheerful mood has sobered up the quickest you’ve ever seen as they just stare at each other for a few seconds.

You sense that this could get messy very quickly, so you hastily make your way to them and try to step in. “It’s alright, Joel, everything is fine,” you say, although you honestly wouldn’t mind seeing Chris a bit shaken up by Joel. You make your way to Joel’s side and place a calming hand on his bicep.

“We were seeing each other before everything, okay? P-please just stop this,” you plead to Chris as your eyes scan all of their faces, feeling extremely caught in the middle of this testosterone fueled standoff.

“Ridiculous,” Chris murmurs, finally casting his eyes down in defeat.

“I’m s-sorry you’re disappointed, or whatever, but you didn’t need to f-fucking harass me, okay?” Your voice comes out shaky but you stand your ground, and can feel how tense Joel is next to you, ready to jump into action at any moment if needed.

“Listen, I know it was wrong of me to give you a talkin’ to when I was doin’ what I was doin’, but I promise it all happened before the job was offered to me, okay? S’complicated, kid,” Joel says, his voice controlled despite the adrenaline buzzing on his skin. You have hope for a moment that you’ve both gotten through to him, and this doesn’t have to end in some kind of disaster. Chris only scoffs a little and shakes his head for a few moments.

“Whatever, you’re a fucking pervert, man. Don’t deserve someone like that,” Chris mumbles, and before Joel can jump at Chris’ words, you try to step slightly in front of him.

“You should leave,” you say sternly to Chris, and Joel blinks hard and looks over at you. “Or I truly think you’re going to get your ass kicked,” you add on, and you can see Tommy trying to hide his growing smirk.

Chris’ eyes meet yours one last time, full of the kind of unfiltered emotions that alcohol can give you. Unfortunately, the ones shining through in his eyes are hateful and disgusted, and it’s starting to make you feel small all over again. Thankfully, he chooses not to speak again and he rushes to the door with heavy, outraged steps the entire way out.

Joel seems to slacken his body a little as he whirls to you, wrapping you up in his arms. You press your face to his warm chest, hearing his rapid heartbeat through the fabric of his soft shirt. You silently will it to slow down, hoping that the feeling of you sinking into him will help quiet the storm you know is brewing inside of him right now.

“Y'alright, sweetheart?” Joel asks softly, and you nod into his torso.

“Fine. I’m fine,” you answer quickly. You feel a bit shaken up, but mostly lingering anger and frustration courses through you as you answer Joel’s question.

“Want me to take ya home?” he asks, and you pull your head off of him, looking up to see his eyes soft and glistening under the dim lighting. You nod again, and he smiles sullenly at you.

“You can drive?” you ask, brows knitting in concern. Joel gives you a small nod. You suppose you had probably noticed him cut back on his intake a while back, but you'd been having your own fun, not particularly paying attention.

“Cut myself off over an hour ago, like I always do when we come here. I’ll get ya out of here safe, baby, go treat you right,” he replies, turning out of the embrace he has you in, putting an arm around your shoulder to guide you out of the bar.

The ride home is quiet, but Joel’s hand never leaves your leg, tracing along between your knee and upper thigh, with a few reassuring squeezes periodically. You can tell that Joel has a lot on his mind from the encounter with Chris, and you wish you could open up his thoughts and read them all right now. You’re still coming down from the rush of adrenaline from being pinned against the wall by Chris, can still feel the remnants of pure fear that only a man is able to instill in a vulnerable woman. You shiver slightly at the memory, brows drawn together, and Joel’s grip tightens before slipping his fingers under the hem of your dress slightly.

“S’okay, baby,” Joel says, quiet and reassuring. Another shiver passes over you as the rough, calloused pads of his finger brush on your bare skin again. What a fucking mixture of emotions you’re feeling right now, you think with a long sigh.

“Are we… wrong?” you ask quietly, and Joel breathes out loudly through his nose. The way Chris’ eyes had bored into you, begging you to be ashamed, to feel regret about you and Joel was sticking with you still. You want to refuse to be affected by it, but the fact that the first time you’d gone more public with things it had turned into an argument, and almost a physical altercation, made you feel uneasy.

“Honestly, sweetheart, I don’t know. Been askin’ myself that for a while,” he replies, and while it’s not the answer you wanted to hear, you’re appreciative of his continued honesty with you.

“It doesn’t feel wrong…” you say, keeping your eyes out the window as you start to pass by familiar streets on the way home.

“No, it doesn’t,” Joel says simply. “Don’t really care what anyone else thinks about us. S’why I wanted you to come out tonight. Sick of actin’ like I can’t be with who I wanna be with.”

Your eyebrows twitch in surprise and you look over at him now. You can hear the frustration in his voice - clearly these thoughts have been weighing on him recently.

“I - yeah, I feel the same way.”

“Doesn’t mean I ain’t insecure about it sometimes, though.”

“Insecure?” you echo, feeling taken aback. Joel never seemed to be the insecure type to you.

“‘Bout what people might think of what I’m doin’ to you. The way you’re givin’ all your time to someone older like me, someone who isn’t just startin’ out in the real world like you.”

You purse your lips, frustrated that this is coming up again for him, and you’re not sure how to convince him that he isn’t wasting your time. It seems like one minute he’s completely on board, ready to forget about what anyone else says about you two, and then the next he’s reminding himself that he’s no good for you.

“You already know that none of that matters to me,” you tell him, and he nods slightly, but you can sense his apprehension. “Just need you with me, and I’m perfectly capable of figuring out the rest of my life.”

Your words manage to crack through Joel’s melancholy attitude as he smiles slightly, glancing over at you with adoring eyes.

“And you know I don’t agree with any of the things that Chris said, right? About you not deserving me, or being a pervert. It’s total bullshit,” you add on, desperate to make sure Joel doesn’t latch onto any of those lies.

“I know, baby. Maybe thought about it at one point or another, especially ‘fore I got to know you. Felt like an old creep ogling a young girl,” he says, a little bit more light hearted.

“You’re not that old, Joel,” you say with a little chuckle. “And if that’s true, I was a creep too, so maybe we’re meant for each other.” Joel cracks another smile and laughs at your comparison.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs with another stolen glance at you before turning his eyes back to the road. You want to cheer him up, to make him feel good, so you quickly concoct a plan you think he’ll like.

“Where’s my jealous Joel, hm? The one who will take me home and show me I’m his after a night like this…” you dare to say, and Joel’s eyes immediately change, glazing over as he lets out a rumbling chuckle.

“Oh, that’s what you’re lookin’ for tonight, is it?” he asks, turning the car into your neighborhood.

“Can’t hold me and touch my leg all night and expect me not to be,” you say, breathy and low now. Joel’s hand tightens possessively on your leg as he slides it up higher, pushing far past the hem of your dress now. Your legs instinctively part slightly as he reaches higher, and he lets out a small hum at the gesture.

“Bet you’re all wet, aren’t ya? Thinkin’ about me bein’ jealous? About me ready to fuck someone up just for disrespectin’ you?” Joel’s face is twisting into a smirk, ideas of what to do with you running through his head as he’s only a few houses down from his.

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment as you nod, breathing heavier now. “Let you do anything to me after all of that,” you say, and Joel’s hand tightens on the steering wheel while he speeds into his driveway, impatiently waiting for the garage door to open.

“Fuck it, get out and go in the house,” he demands as the garage is inching it’s way up. It feels like an eternity when his cock is already getting excruciatingly hard from your few sultry words and the feel of the plush, supple skin on your thigh. You slide out of the car silently and hear the slam of his car door behind him as you make your way to his front door. He barely even fumbles with the key despite his haste as he unlocks the front door, shoving you inside by gripping your ass and pushing you forward. His hand is on yours now, pulling you along into the kitchen, silent and clearly on a mission.

Next to the counter, he spins you and crashes you against it, forcing the front of your body half down onto the cool surface of the linoleum before pulling your dress up your ass and promptly ripping your underwear from your body. You cry out a complaint to protest the sudden destruction of your panties, but Joel pushes himself harder into your hips, silencing you.

“I’ll buy you new ones, quit your whining, girl,” he says roughly, the insecure, unsure voice you’d heard from him in the car completely gone now. You hear him fiddling with his belt and pants zipper behind you, clearly already very eager to get inside of you.

“I liked that pair,” you say with a frown.

“I said quit it. You ain’t gonna care once you��ve got this cock in you, are you?” he says as he reaches in between your legs, now having easy access to your dripping cunt. “Already fuckin’ soaked, filthy fuckin’ thing,” he comments, pulling his hand out, and your hips shudder backwards at the sudden loss of him before he could even begin to pleasure you.

“N-no fair,” you whimper, already losing yourself to him. Your heart thrums in your chest as he pushes onto you, the feel of his throbbing cock right on your ass making your mouth water and insides ache for him desperately.

“Said I could do anythin’, darlin’, so keep your pretty mouth shut and let me show you that you’re mine,” he says, but his gentle, loving strokes along your back and ass are contradictory to his harsh tone.

You stay quiet, but push your hips back slightly into him. Your silent invitation is all he needs to push into you, the thick length of him entering you quickly and not stopping until he’s completely buried in your cunt. You moan out in pain from the sudden stretch on your walls from him. Your face contorts slightly at the feeling of it as you’re pushed down onto the counter, your cheek now touching the smooth surface.

“Shh, c’mon baby, you can do it. Open up for me, take this cock nice and pretty for me,” Joel coos, settling himself deep inside of you and grinding his hips the tiniest bit. He brushes your hair off your neck, stroking gently to try and calm you. You let out a shaky breath but feel your body starting to relax into it, quickly finding that pleasure you’re so familiar with from him when you grind your hips forward and then back enough to give Joel some movement.

“Yeah, atta girl, good fucking girl,” he breathes out when he feels you loosen up enough for him to move comfortably as he starts thrusting his hips in and out of you. “My pretty little thing, gonna show you how to take this cock so good tonight, remember you’re all mine.” Joel’s words have an instant effect on you, and you can feel yourself clench around him as you moan.

Joel picks up the pace of his hips, pushing you into the counter with each thrust into you. You can hear the sloppy, wet noises with each movement he makes while you leak around him, already coating every bit of him as he grunts in pleasure.

“So fucking wet baby, all for me,” he groans. “Noisy little pussy all soaked for this cock.” Joel smirks in satisfaction as he watches you fall apart in front of him, your body leaned over the counter, a line of sweat already coating your hairline and forming along your neck. He grasps tightly onto each side of your hips, allowing him to hold you firmly as he thrusts completely into you, each movement pressing his cock as deep as he can, and you cry out when his angle starts to hit your favorite spot deep inside of you.

“P-please,” you cry out, whimpering and writhing underneath him as your back arches. It’s a sight to behold, Joel thinks to himself as he sees you losing yourself to the pleasure, eyes fluttering and mouth parted as your cunt clenches around him over and over, so close to release.

“Beg me some more, sweetheart,” he says airily, his breathing ramping up even more as he thrusts over and over onto that same spot.

“Joel, please, I need to - oh my god,” you moan, pressing your forehead down onto the counter

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, one of his hands snaking along your back and up to your neck.

“N-need to come, it’s feels so fucking good.” You’re melting by the second, already so close to finding your release, amazed at how quickly he’s able to bring it out of you sometimes.

Joel teasingly slows his movements, and you instantly make a loud noise of protest, hips bouncing as quickly as they can under his hold, trying to get back the speed he was at moments ago. Joel tuts and grips the back of your head, wrapping your hair around his hand.

“Mm-mm,” he scolds you, tugging slightly on the strands of hair he’s holding. “Don’t you dare try to make yourself come yet,” he says, feeling you continue to try and move your hips more quickly than he wants to allow.

You breathe out a shaky breath, legs trembling with anticipation and need while your cunt aches for him to move more quickly.

“Please, Joel, let me come, I’m being so good,” you say after another whimper, and Joel strokes your head lovingly, debating for a moment on his next move.

“Prove it. If you can keep these pretty hips still for two minutes and not come, I’ll give you what you want and more…” Joel offers, and you swallow hard, begging your body to still as he stops his thrusts completely. You breathe out, shaking, knowing how good he feels inside you but being unable to move is already torture. Joel lets out a little devilish chuckle as his hand reaches around you and his fingers drag along your pussy lips, and you bite hard on the inside of your cheek breaths coming out in quick, staccato bursts.

“N-not fair,” you push out through clenched teeth, curling your toes so tightly you feel like they could break.

“Never said it was gonna be fair. Just need you to be a good girl and do as I say, hm? Can you do that?”

You nod the tiniest bit, being careful not to jostle any part of your body unnecessarily. Joel’s enjoying this way too much, you think spitefully, but you can feel the rushes of wetness flowing out all over his cock seated inside of you when he continues toying with your pussy. You could deny liking this, but what would the point of that be? You’d only be lying to yourself.

“Baby, so fuckin’ swollen and wet, don’t it ache right now? Need me movin’ inside of you?” Joel teases, and you clench your teeth, trying to not whimper too loudly. His finger brushes over your clit and you let out an animalistic growl, squeezing your eyes shut. Joel rubs slow, deliberate circles near your clit, barely touching it but allowing the finger to brush it every so often, sending a shooting explosion of pleasure every time he does, little whimpers escaping your lips each time he does. But you’ll be damned if you move your hips at all and don’t get your reward at the end of all this, you think with solid determination.

“Love playin’ with you baby, my little play thing, aren’t you? Fuckin’ whimpering mess for me to make you come,” Joel says, his enjoyment of this clear as day in his teasing tone towards you. You make a strangled sound of agreement, completely unable to verbalize anything right now. You feel right on the edge, an orgasm threatening to tear through you as his fingers brush over the sensitive nerves over and over.

“P-please, I’m not gonna m-make it -” you cry out, trying to ignore the feeling of him touching you that your body typically craves at all other times.

“Time’s up,” Joel says with a quick squeeze of your ass, and you can barely breathe a sigh of relief before he begins moving his hips again, the sensation of being full of him hitting you all over again as he pumps in and out of you. A shaky moan passes your lips, your whole body starting to tremble from the entire ordeal Joel just put you through.

“Shh, good girl, you did so good. Love teasin’ you, baby,” Joel says, “So good at followin’ my orders,” he adds with a smirk in his voice that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

He picks back up a steady pace of slamming his cock into you, starting to push even harder than before, your cunt fluttering around him as the pleasure overwhelms you again and you feel the sweet release building in your core, a small flame growing into a toe curling fire as he hits your g-spot again.

Joel’s hand suddenly reaches around your head, wrapping his large fingers around your throat. You gasp lightly in shock, feeling the minimal pressure he’s applying on your throat to start with as he tilts your head up off the counter slightly.

“F-fuck,” you manage to choke out, and Joel increases the pressure just slightly, testing the boundary.

“Like it when I handle you like this, hm, baby?” he asks and you let out a soft, moaning “mhm” in response to him. He squeezes a little harder, the perfect amount of pressure to feel everything you wanted from this as he asserts every ounce of dominance he can over you. You’re splayed out over the counter, your entire body at his mercy now as he grasps your throat and bucks his hips into you.

Another small squeeze of his thick fingers sends you over the edge, and you let out a stifled moan from your throat, Joel feeling the vibrations of it on his hand and groaning at the power he’s feeling over your pleasure. Your entire body rocks into Joel’s with the pure bliss running through it, surges of pleasure from your core radiating out and making you tense up.

“Fuckin’ squeezin’ my cock so good, baby,” Joel purrs, loosening his grip slightly on your throat so he can hear the noises he brings out of you completely unhindered.

“F-fuck, Joel,” you say, calling his name several more times as you writhe and continue to feel your climax pulsing through you. Finally, you come down slightly, just as Joel pumps into you several more times, finishing himself off inside of you, spilling his warmth as deep as he possibly can inside of you. He grunts out expletives and curses, quiet moans flowing from his lips as his hips stutter against you.

“God, darlin’, how’re you so fuckin’ perfect every time?” Joel breathes out, leaning his body onto yours as he recuperates for a moment.

“No that’s you,” you grumble, slurring your words slightly as you feel completely out of it from the intensity of this latest climax.

“You make me that way, couldn’t come like this for anyone else, swear,” Joel concludes, pulling his cock from your entrance and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Here, darlin’,” Joel says, scooping your body from its stiff position leaned over the counter and pulling you upright. He pinches your cheek lovingly and you blink softly up at him. “Let’s get you in the shower, hm?” he says, putting an arm around your waist and guiding you towards the stairs.

“Only if we can do that again in there,” you tease, and Joel laughs heartily, his chest rumbling your own body as he holds you close to him.

“Insatiable girl… we’ll see what we can do.”

taglist: @paleidiot @mumma-moonchild @soph55

#my need for joel miller grows every single day it's not even funny anymore #fic: closer #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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drivelikeiido · 2 years ago

Text

want me

(mohawk) matty can't seem to keep his eyes off of you at the bar

matty healy x f! reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: smoking and alcohol and a lil smutty but no actual smut (maybe i’ll write it in a part 2 if y’all are interested in that ?) BUT NO MINORS IDC GET AWAY

notes: sorry this took so so long to write i’ve been in a writing slump but i’m back !! and i apologise for edging you with not actual smut once again but that’s just how it is ! i prefer writing longing over actual smut anyways but if y’all want a part 2 i could be persuaded. also this idea originally came to me while listening to crying lightning by the arctic monkeys so do with that what you will.

Stereotypical summer weather is a rarity in England so the minute the sun came out Matty invited you to join him and the boys and their girlfriends at the pub, which is how you’ve ended up in a rather seductive battle of wills with your boyfriend. He somehow thinks his staring over the top of his sunglasses while playing a game of pool with the boys is subtle but in reality his feelings towards the short summer dress you’re currently wearing are blatantly obvious, which means you just have to tease him a little - you play your own little game while he plays his.

You sit on a table opposite where the boys are playing, sharing a pitcher of some fruity, more alcohol than mixer, concoction with the girls, chatting and catching up in low content voices while you make the most of the golden sun that warms you and casts a glow onto your skin. You hadn’t seen all the girls in some time so you appreciated the chance to catch up with them in such a relaxed setting, everyone’s mood boosted by the appearance of the sun and the weather it brings. The stuffy British heat gradually makes you feel uncomfortable and you begin to fan yourself with an old cocktail menu sitting on the table, your hair moving with the breeze and exposing your neck and sun soaked chest more, an action that doesn't go missed by Matty’s watchful eyes. He still pretends to be fully absorbed in his game of pool but his glances over your way become more and more frequent, his hands becoming restless as he taps out some unknown staccato beat on the bottle in his hands, the beads of condensation running down his lithe fingers and dropping to the ground. The boys are far too used to Matty’s frequent musings and distracted behaviour when it comes to you so they pay no heed to his distracted state, Hann poking his side when it was his turn to play, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

At one point Matty catches your eye and you wave innocently over, your neutral appearance betraying the playful thoughts running in your head. The girls at the table have also taken notice of your boyfriend’s not so subtle staring, giggling amongst themselves and encouraging whatever mischief you’re thinking of starting with hushed voices, comments being thrown around about how obviously obsessed he is with you. However that wholesome notion is short lived as one of the girl’s nudges you and motions over to Matty, his dark eyes trained on you as he looks you up and down once more, moving his sunglasses further down his nose, his actions far from subtle as he devours you with his eyes. Ross too clocks onto this and kicks Matty’s sneakered foot in a jokey manner, his laughter floating into the air as you hear him jokingly scold your boyfriend to “Behave”, a subtle blush makes its way onto Matty’s cheeks in his embarrassment at being caught by his friend. He raises his hands, pool cue still clutched in his left, in a show of apology, grinning over to you as he mouths “Sorry, love”, however both of you know this apology is nowhere near genuine as he truly has no plans whatsoever to cease his overt appreciation for his girlfriend.

His hands return to his side as he pulls out his cigarettes, offering them to the boys and lighting one up himself, his cheeks hollowing as he inhales the acrid smoke. You have to hold in the sigh threatening to spill from your lips, your fingers finding a sudden interest in the blue striped straw in your glass, anything to take your focus off the hypnotic man in front of you. You try and think of anything else to calm your racing brain but thoughts of your boyfriend’s pretty plush lips circling around the cigarette and how his talented fingers balance it in his hands do nothing to quell the unignorable need you’re already feeling for him. The cigarette rests on his lips that now seem etched into a permanent smirk, your boyfriend taking pleasure in knowing how the sight of him smoking always has this effect on you, his nicotine addiction working in his favour at this moment in time to make you as desperate for him as he is for you.

Matty’s cigarette has since been savoured and finally put out, however the thoughts of your boyfriend's talented fingers and pink lips still occupy the front of your mind and go straight to your core. The suspended smell of smoke in the air is so resemblant of your boyfriend it’s almost intoxicating and results in your mind being only filled with thoughts of him; all social expectations and fears are quelled purely by the overwhelming distraction that is Matty. You nod and hum absentmindedly to the girls’ conversation at the table, their subtle smirks giving away that they know very well where your mind has vanished off to as your fingers begin to drum energetically on the table, your body language practically oozing unrest.

You begin to notice the alcohol’s buzz beginning to wear off, melted ice being all that’s left in the pitcher. One of the girls nods to you, breaking your attention from the realm of smutty daydreaming and gestures her head back inside the pub, “Why don’t you go inside and get some more? Give him something else to look at” her smile wide and entertained, her eyes shining with mischief as you make out a wink from behind the shadowed lenses of her sunglasses. You nod, smiling, appreciating the sudden development of a plan. You stand, brushing off your already rather short dress of imaginary lint, just giving yourself another action to use up your excess energy. As you pick up the empty pitcher and quickly drop a glance towards Matty, who of course is already looking at you with eyes resemblant of an abandoned puppy as he looks over the dark lenses of his sunglasses. You see a quick smile grace his features, (the cause of which a mystery to you) and the stray hairs on the top of his head sticking to his forehead slightly due to the sheen of sweat covering him, the sight shouldn’t have as much of an effect on you as it does, sending another wave of heat through your body as you imagine scraping your fingers through the coarse short hair at the sides and brushing back those loose hairs of his mohawk, tugging slightly as you do so. You drop your head to dispel these thoughts and push your way back through the door into the bar, dropping the pitcher back onto the bartop, ready to order another round for the girls. Your mouth just opened to speak when you feel a gentle hand grab your wrist, turning quickly in alarm you’re immediately relieved to see the dishevelled hair and dark eyes of your boyfriend. An apologetic look graces his features for a second, his hand dropping to yours and squeezing, his voice low and gravelly when he says “Follow me”. This is the first you’ve heard his voice in nearly an hour and it alone has the power to have your knees buckle. He must sense the question ready to spill from your lips, as his voice becomes more demanding “Now, darlin”. His authoritative tone erases any other thoughts you may have as you begin to follow his loudly booted feet into what you recognise to be a stall in the men’s bathrooms.

As thankful as you are that your boyfriend is as needy for your body as you are his, the public nature of this rendezvous does bubble a bit of panic into your chest, a feeling that is immediately forgotten as his toned hands grab your face and he slots his lips onto yours. The suddenness of the action catching you by surprise but still eliciting a neediness in you as you push your body impossibly close to his, kissing him back with pent up fervour that has been brewing beneath your skin since he put on that leather jacket before leaving the flat hours ago. The residual alcohol and danger of the situation heightens your senses and you swear you could floatl from how euphoric you felt, Matty acting as your own personal drug, the taste of alcohol and smoke on his lips going straight to your head. A breathy laugh escapes your throat as you rest your head in the crook of his neck while he attacks yours with kisses and small bites that you just know will need to be extensively covered tomorrow.

“Matty someone will hear us” your voice hushed and restrained as you try your best to repress the wanton moan that has been threatening to spill from your lips since the moment he touched you at the bar.

He pulls back from your neck to deliver a quick and frenzied “Good. Let them. Once they see my beautiful girlfriend they’ll know why I couldn’t wait any longer” that is more panted than spoken into the side of your neck. His hands are like vices on your waist, forever squeezing and gripping at the skin there, as if no matter how much he touched you it would never be enough to satisfy him. His words elicit a whimper from your throat beyond your control, a knowing smirk into your neck being his response.

You move to return the favour, sucking dark bruises into his neck, his grunts and deep breaths from above you your own personal melody as your hands run through the long mop of hair on the top of his head, tugging on the strands then lightly scratching through the buzzed hairs on the sides, making sure to kiss the exposed skin behind his ear, knowing how it makes him crumble, this clear in the small restrained whimper that is only audible due to your extreme proximity; you two are practically one entity as you’re pressed up so closely together in this stall. Matty’s hands make quick work of sliding under your dress and ghosting over your ass, his fingers surprising you in their sudden desperation as they grope and squeeze at the skin there. His hips grind instinctively into yours, both of you sharing the same air as you gasp in synchronicity, normally you’d find something poetic in that action but your brain was so hazy with thoughts of Matty that nothing else would compute. Your skin burned with need for him and the more you kissed and licked at his skin the more your world began to centre around the delicious smokey smell that clung to his hands and his clothes, and you grow a little jealous at its ability to be in constant proximity to him, the smell lingering on him like it was inherent to his being, a factor you adored about him.

Your hands instinctively move to unbuckle his belt, however his lithe fingers move to shadow over your wrists, dropping a gentle kiss to your head “As much as I am desperate for you to do that darlin’, I will not be able to control myself if we go that far right now”. He kisses away the small pout that has formed on your lips, his nose momentarily nudging yours as he rests his forehead on yours “I promise I’ll make it up to us both when we get home but right now I’d rather not have both of us walk back to our friends and the rest of the pub smelling of sex, we’d never hear the end of it”.

Your voice whispers in a poor attempt to hide your desperation and surprise at his audacity “That’s not fair Matty you’ve literally been eyefucking me all night and now you wanna be all responsible? You’re such a cockblock”. He barks out a laugh at this and threads his hands into your hair, pulling and stroking at the strands, “I’m being responsible. I’m trying out something new” he jests, dropping a quick kiss to your nose.

You drop your head to his chest, kissing the exposed ink that peeks out from the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know if I like it” you mumble with a smile, hands grabbing at any piece of him you can salvage.

“You're so evil Matty, you’re such a tease”. He almost coos at your flustered state “Trust me I know the feeling sweetheart, it is taking every single ounce of self control I have to not flip up this excuse for a dress and have you against this wall until the only word you can say is my name”.

You give an exasperated moan at this into his chest and hold onto him even tighter as warmth surges through you again. “You’re really not helping”, he huffs out another low laugh and lifts his finger to your chin, guiding you to look into his sparkling, lust-filled eyes, his voice earnest and seductive when he says “I promise, promise, I will make it up to you when we get home, trust me I need you too darlin’. It’s just if I didn’t touch you now I think I would have lost my mind at that pool table”. His hands now cradle your face like a precious piece of china, his slender thumb rubbing slowly across your cheek, the soothing action working to calm you both down from your shared frenzy. You lean into him again as your lips fit together, it’s a kiss filled with want and the hanging desire of what’s promised and you have to force yourself to pull away from him. You truly think he could steal all the air from your lungs and you’d let him, as long as you were kissing him you could die happy.

He gives you one last quick peck and fixes any of your smudged lipstick and smooths out any wrinkles on your dress, his hands ghosting over your skin a little longer than one would deem innocent. You too try to get him presentable, giggling as you wipe away the lipstick on his lips with your thumb and run your hands through his mohawk a few more times than necessary, loving the feeling of his dark locks passing through your fingers.

Together you exit the bathroom, your skin already turning red with the fear that people will know what you’ve been up to. Matty tells you to wait by him while he orders another pitcher for the girls and drinks for himself and the boys, his hand absentmindedly grabbing yours while you wait at the bar, empathising with how embarrassed you must be feeling but also not so secretly revelling in it, his dominant streak momentarily taking over.

You pass through the door to outside once again, squinting at the sun that threatens your vision as you emerge. The girls whistle at your reappearance, giggles floating through the air at your flushed appearance and nervous smile. You avoid all the staring eyes, the boys too grinning knowingly in yours and Matty’s direction. You separate from him as you set the pitcher down at your shared table, your blush definitely giving away the answer to any question as to what you were up to.

“Sorry for the wait guys, there was a queue” you hurry out, still refusing to make eye contact, knowing you’ll crack and start laughing as soon as you do. Charli laughs and nods unconvinced, her voice mockingly slow “Yeah, sure there was”. This sets the girls off laughing, you soon join in, your head falling to your hands in embarrassment. The boys too now looking over your direction and laughing, George patting Matty on the back, his cheeks now matching yours in their cherry pink state, the blush creeping all over your chest adding to pigment you’ve already gained from the sun’s heat. What you don’t see in your all-consuming fit of embarrassment is Hann reaching over to Matty’s neck to wipe off some remaining lipstick that stains there, his smile is infectious amongst the boys as they poke fun over Matty’s flustered state. Once you all recover from your fit of giggles you look up from your hands over to Matty who is, of course, already looking at you. He mouths the words "I’m so in love with you", his bright smile is back and so contagious that the blush on your cheeks immediately becomes immovable, a smile in your words too as you mouth back back, "I’m so in love with you too, Matty". His perfect smile graces your eyes as he returns to his game with the boys, his attention more focused on the game than before, his hands only ever leaving the cue to push the dark strands of hair that fall in front of his vision back into their assigned place. He only ever looks up to you every now and again to wink, an action filled with so much desire and expectation for when you get home, the subtlety making your whole body flush with excitement and the impatience to get back to the flat to see what awaits you grows even stronger.

#also CLIFFHANGER ????? sorry not sorry #it was long enough editing was a nightmare #i am SO SO sorry this took so long #im not very happy with this one i feel like it's very long with no real plot or reward #but this has been sitting in my docs for so long that i've probably grown to hate it #anyways mohawk matty supremacy #illegal to read this and not picture mohawk matty #imagine matty wearing the boots in the pic AND a leather jacket ?? exactly #also mentioned charli because she's my wife #matty healy x reader #matty healy fic #matty healy #the 1975 x reader #the 1975 fic #i write 1975 fiction wtf is my life #k!'s fics

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be-side-my-self · 3 months ago

Text

Watching Season 4 of Only Murders In The Building. (E9)

Rewatch of ONLY Murders In The Building to prepare for season 4:

This is no rewatch but my new posts can also easily be blocked because I'll continue to use #OMITBRewatch as a tag. I'll also tag #OMITBS4. While quoting, I use M, O, C for the main characters.

Beware spoilers! (watching on wednesday)

S4 E9

Let's see... who killed Sazz?

Who tried to kill Glen?

I feel like when someone says "He is going to ge the death of me!" it is more figuratively than literally.

Getting a job offer after being hit by a car... the american dream.

Okay... the nurse is irish too?

Going back because how big is the chance to have an irish nurse as an irish patient in america? I genuily asking.

Also I would have banned Charles and Oliver too...

A witchy board.... it's weegee board, Oliver! (in before I know it's Ouija)

That looks like really good beer... I want to try it because I like beer even though I'm no fan of pils. I'll survive though. I am a peasant though.

C: "You know, I've been thinking. You're getting married in a few days, and what if I took you out and bought you a non-beer drink to, uh, celebrate?" O: "Charles, are you offering to throw me a bachelor party?" C: *inhales* O: "I don't care what people say. You're not an ice prince."

Oliver, do you really want the kind of party that Charles would throw as you bachelor party?

I feel like i've seen the bartender before... gotta check out the actor... maybe not?

Only Sazz, Glen and the director knew what happened... is the director Dudenoff?

RON HOWARD?!

Love Olivers reaction... I paused and he is like >:0, while Charles is mildly surprised and Mabel looks like she has no idea who that is (tbf I mostly know him from The Simpsons). Anyway I guess Oliver does not like Ron.

LMAO I WAS SO WRONG XDD

O: "Finally, a celebrity this season!"

aww in the theme song we now see Howard walk his cat and dog.

nice how they hide the protegés face.

O: "Ron-Ron and I are close personal friends."

When Oliver says it like that I will now assume that Ron dislikes/hates Oliver.

Or does not remember him.

Why are we hearing about Ron Howard's nipples?

... what a mess... also yeah invite Tom Hanks to the Bachelor party

W - hiskey A - List Celebrities N - aughty S - ecret

C: "Got it. H-E-L-P."

Of course Mabel asks Bev.

Okay, let's take notes of the drink receipe because that starts out promising and with that I mean disgusting. 1 can (0.5 l) of Red Bull original (barf) 2 BiFi or mini salami ??? In a mixer and mixing it until it's a nice... barfy colour. I was expecting some kind of alcohol...

Oh Bev hates Ron?

Crew Member: "Everyone, we need all 'Escape from Planet Kongo' NDAs signed before entering." That explains the title... and autobiographic???

... I love that they are all overestimating their importance.

That security guard is really nice.

lmao

great casting scene.

GLEN IS AWAKE!!

With an irish nurse.

"Couple old men and their caretaker?"

You learn everything about a person while sharing off-menue soup.

Uh-Oh...

No! Don't cut off the oxygen to Glens brain!

Also what is up with American hospitals (in TV shows)? Everyone can just walk in an kill people, huh?

oh god... yes please discuss this while the whole set is watching you... what kind of lovers squarrel is this? Besties at it.

omg... it's aliens.... Kongonians are aliens. Certainly autobiographic.

Why does the nurse sound like she knew Glen since forever? Did they? Did she know him before?

Someone give Mabel a broom so she can go "There, there."

"Breaking news. Nicky 'The Neck' Caccimelio, the Dry Cleaning King of Brooklyn, has been reported missing. Though he has ties to the Caputo crime family, officials say they do not suspect foul play at this time." <- Putting this here for later reference.

... so... uhm... is this about the Irish vs. the Italian Mafia?

HOOOOOOO!!! wait a second! In that flashback scene the director assistant is the same as the one with Ron Ron? That would explain why he recognised Charles as Brazzos! He knew Sazz!!

.... right because it was a Ron Howard movie xD Forgot about it again because I watched that part yesterday.

Besties are at it again... and with "at it" I mean being angry at each other.

Awww Oliver is the emergency contact for Charles :']

They really are besties.

BESTIES ARE BEST MAN FOR EACH OTHER! and get colonoscopies together.

Of course ... lmao holy shit!

That was not a Dialog Marshall... it's a Monolouge

Important: that super light, long hair of the stuntperson.

RIP Ron Howards eyebrows.

I bet there is something important in that crate of beer.

Of course there is...

It's the correct sole on those shoes. ... Ron-Ron is the murderer!!!!1

Rex Bailey ....

Add a Beard and some glasses... don't tell me it's Howard... don't don't

OH... okay...

lol okay.

Uh Oh...

Also wow, Sazz wanted to talk with Charles about the movie but as in, she wrote a script. That is why she wanted to talk about the plot holes. To get the script right!

Wow. Oh gosh, Mabel is hardcore. She is in a room with a double-murderer and does not give a shit.

That is the reason for Sazz to be killed... bUT

we still don't know how to fill the plot-holes. Who wrote the notes?! Is there even a big bad in the background? .... is it Uma? j/k It's probably Howard.

#OMITBS4 #Only Murders in the Building #Only Murders in the Building Season 4 #OMITBRewatch #Only Murders In the Building S4 #only murders season 4 #OMITB #omitb spoilers #omitb s4 #omitb season 4

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brandstifter-sys · 3 months ago

Text

The Great Bitchin Bake-Off

Chapter 1: It's a Piece of Cake (Ao3)

Word Count: 3311

Rating: T

Characters: Roman, Remus

Warnings: Brotherly shenanigans, innuendo, blood, Remus has OCD

Roman and Remus have no internet, no cookbooks, and they have to make breakfast for everyone in the mindscape. Rather than work together, the creativitwins just have to make it a competition, if only so there's something edible in the end

---

This was the worst possible thing that could happen! Thomas was camping and away from the internet, and Roman and Remus were tasked with making cinnamon rolls for breakfast, as well as eggs and sausage, but those things were easy to prepare.

“Where is it?!” Roman groaned as he scoured the cabinets. Patton had to have a cookbook somewhere around there! Remus was sitting on the stovetop, watching his brother tear the kitchen apart.

“You know where it isn't!” he chirped, being as unhelpful as possible.

Roman's shoulders tensed and he said, “Then go check his room, or Janus' room! We don't have all night!”

“It's already 3 in the morning, we clearly did have all night!” Remus jeered and jumped off the stove.

“Will you just—”

“Check their rooms for a third time? Ask Harlot's Web if he has it again? Scour the entire Imagination?” Remus asked dramatically, gesticulating like the prince, before he smacked his hands on the stove and laughed, “Of course not!”

“Then what do you propose we do?” Roman hissed and spun on his heels to face the grinning duke. He absolutely loathed that sharp, twisted smile and the chaos it invited.

“Wing it! What good is being Creativity if we can't get creative!”

Roman sputtered and gawked at him as he skipped to the cabinets. Remus was all too happy gathering an assortment of dry ingredients that would coat his arguably plain clothes in white. There was no way this walking disaster could simply “wing it” with anything food related—the man ate cockroaches!

“Working with you with a recipe is already more struggle than it's worth—I refuse to let you poison the others because you just had to be Eris incarnate!”

Remus pouted at him and let his head drop over his shoulder. The unamused glare would have been disorienting for anyone other than Roman, but he was used to it.

“At least I would poison them on purpose,” he scoffed, “You would manage it whether you want to or not, if you manage to make something worth eating.”

Those were fighting words. Roman could see the impish smile fighting to unfurl below that infuriating mustache. There was no way he could let Remus get away with affronting his pride in such a crude manner!

“In that case, leave and I will prove that I am capable!” the prince huffed and crossed his arms. A mistake on his part.

“Prove this!”

Slap

Roman yelped as a small square packet hit him in the face. That bastard was trying his limited patience. And what was worse, he was all too familiar with the size and shape of the packet. Knowing Remus…

"Was that a condom!?" Roman shrieked and whacked the packet away from his face. Remus howled with laughter. Of course he would be so crass!

"That's dry yeast!! Way to prove you can't get laid Mr. Romance!" Remus wheezed, and set his ingredients on the counter.

Roman fumed and stole forward, forcefully usurping the dry ingredients. He brought them to a different counter, the one with the stand mixer and seethed.

“H—Hey! Wait a sec! You really want to poison your friends?” Remus gasped.

“If I did, I’d leave the baking to you. And that is what I refuse to do.”

“Now, I can take a hit, but you can't bake for shit. So gimme that flour back—Thank you!” Remus jeered and snatched the bag of flour while Roman was distracted by the limerick. He was such a prissy poet, he would have to analyze every syllable before moving on.

Remus set the flour on the counter and pulled a large bowl and a measuring cup from the cabinets. He was able to pour a different packet of yeast into the bowl before Roman finished analyzing the poem.

It was only when he skipped to the sink and turned on the water that Roman snapped out of it.

“How dare you distract me with poetry!” he snapped and balled his fists at his sides.

“Easily!” the duke jeered and stuck his hand under the tap. It had to be warm if he wanted things to work. And he would wash his hands, mainly because it would show Roman he was serious and set on baking. He was not about to leave everyone without a decent breakfast!

Roman was sputtering more nonsense. Remus knew he was not going to convince the prissy princey to let him handle this, and if Roman didn't want to work with him, there was another way.

“If you're so desperate to prove me right, the oven is big enough for two batches,” Remus taunted and conjured a bar of soap—one he wasn't allergic to.

Roman seethed. He would prove that pest wrong! He would create the most perfect cinnamon rolls ever! And he would have Remus' disgusting batch to amplify his greatness.

By the time he snapped out of his personal moment, Roman realized that Remus was no longer paying him any mind. The microwave was running and the idiot was bent over at the waist, staring at his bowl that he covered with a towel.

“Wakey wakey my little babies!” Remus cooed, “It's time for you to get bakey-ed!”

“What on earth—?”

“I have to activate my yeast—I threw the instant at you, so you don't have to worry your pissy little head off! You know getting anxious brings out the spider!” Remus jeered and wiggled his butt for emphasis.

Roman could pretend he was not grateful. He knew the sheer horror of waking Virgil suddenly, and he was not about to be the cause of such a threat.

“If that's how you feel, you won't mind ceding the stand mixer,” he said and picked up his yeast packet from the floor.

“Yeah, you need a fighting chance!” Remus laughed as the microwave dinged. He bounced on his heels, dancing to a song in his head, set off by the beeping. Roman did not want to know what that song was.

Roman willed his hands clean and emptied his yeast into the bowl on the stand mixer. Since he really had no idea what he was doing, he took the measuring cup by the sink and filled it partially with warm water.

“It’s a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake,” Remus sang to himself, catching Roman off guard, “If the way is hazy!”

Roman rolled his eyes and added the water to his bowl. Surely he could start adding his other wet ingredients while Remus reminisced over a children's show. Was there milk in cinnamon roll dough? There was about to be! And of course eggs. The last time he tried baking without them was a disaster!

He rushed to the fridge and pulled out the milk and eggs, careful not to drop them. A prince was not born to clean. And he was such a fortunate prince, setting down both ingredients before anything could startle him.

“Then you'll have a—Break it down bitch! Lemme see you back it up!” Remus switched from singing to quiet shouting.

Roman watched, completely flabbergasted as his idiot brother twerked and lowered himself toward the floor, still shouting:

“Drop that ass down low and pick that motherfucker up!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Roman scoffed.

“Obviously I'm waiting for my yeasty babies to wake up!” Remus laughed and straightened his legs, “And singing a classic song to time it!”

“A classic?”

“Don't tell me you never heard ‘Cooking by the Book (A Lil Bigger Mix)’ before!” Remus laughed, only to realize that Roman had certainly not. This uncultured swine!

“I don’t need to be familiar with a meme like that,” Roman scoffed and stole the sugar from Remus' counter.

“Boo you whore!” Remus jeered, “Or should I say ‘priss’ instead? A whore would know the difference between a yeast packet and a condom!”

Roman’s face decided to match his sash as he set the sugar down and turned on the mixer. He kept grumbling to himself as he added two eggs, some milk, and some sugar, accidentally spilling some milk on the floor—a humble mistake that wouldn't ruin his creation. Remus decided not to comment on his lack of measurements. Roman wanted to do this without his help, so Remus wouldn’t offer. And he wouldn’t sabotage his brother either, not that he needed to.

What Remus would do was make some tasty cinnamon rolls! He peeked under the towel and saw a lovely little foam on the top of the mixture, which meant he could get to work!

Without much thought, he stole the sugar and pulled out a measuring cup. He was not about to let his OCD act up if he could help it. He always liked to bake when his thoughts were too loud, since it was soothing and ritualistic. Roman had no idea how much experience Remus had, but he was about to get a glimpse.

Once he was satisfied with the amount of sugar in his cup, Remus pulled out a rubber spatula. He was careful, slowly pouring in the sweet crystals and mixing them in the yeast goo. Roman caught sight of him and a pang of dread filled him.

Roman was supposed to be the good Creativity. Something as sweet and adored as cinnamon rolls should have fallen under his domain! How dare Remus look like he knew what he was doing!

Sabotage was so petty and underhanded, something Janus would do, so naturally Roman was repulsed by the idea. And sorely tempted. But he was better than that! He would just move things around, where they belong. If Remus forgot about them with that scatterbrain of his, it was his own fault.

The duke was busy getting his stuff from the microwave when Roman gathered the eggs and milk. He paused when he saw the contents of the Pyrex measuring cup in Remus' hand.

“Is that milk?”

“Yup!” Remus laughed as he began adding it to his bowl, stirring it in with grace.

“Cow's milk?” Roman pressed suspiciously

“Yeah.”

“Why is it yellow, and with that clearish layer on top?”

“Butter,” Remus shrugged, too focused on his task. Roman’s face blanched. How could he forget about butter!?

With the milk and eggs in hand he moved to get to the fridge to get butter.

At least that was his plan.

Eek!

His foot slipped out from under him, thanks to his spill, and he fell on his back. All of the eggs escaped the carton and splattered on and around him, coating him in goop and shells. The milk, fortunately, was closed and did not spill.

Remus glanced over his shoulder and sighed, “Did you do that on purpose?”

“What? Why would I fall and willingly ruin my jacket with raw eggs? I'm not some saboteur with a pain kink, like you!” Roman snapped and got up. He could at least put away the milk and get some butter with some dignity.

“I haven't done anything to ruin your rolls, Pissbaby,” Remus scoffed, “You did it all yourself. And now I don't have chicken eggs! They're the most essential part of any baked good! And oviposition! And cockatrice eggs are terrible for baking!”

“Figure your own shit out,” Roman huffed and put the milk away. He went to the sink and tried to wash off his face and as much of his hair as he could.

Remus tapped his chin with his knuckle. He needed the binding power of eggs, but without eggs. He made dog biscuits for his puppies, Winnie, Sarah, and Mary, and all his other critters, without eggs. He always used blood for his babies, maybe he could get away with it this time. There was only one way to find out!

Remus summoned an ornate glass jug filled with a deep red liquid. He held it up and swirled it, eyeing it closely. Yeah, he could work with this.

Roman could not. He dried his face with a paper towel and gawked at the jug. There was no way he was seeing what he thought he saw. Remus was deranged and feral, but he wouldn't actually put something so vile in his cinnamon rolls when he was trying to prove he could make something edible, if not better than Roman’s.

“What is that?”

“Huh?” Remus paused and looked at Roman curiously, “This is pig blood—It’s already been boiled to hell and back, so it's safe to eat—I wouldn't feed my sweet little babies anything dangerous, so it won't be dangerous for anyone else!”

“It's—It’s actually blood,” Roman gawked, only capable of focusing on that detail.

“Yup!” Remus laughed as he measured out the amount he needed. He was not going to waste any of his preciously purified resource on cowards like his brother!

Roman, for all of his disgust, suddenly felt much more confident about his own dough. He pulled his shoulders back with pride and pulled a stick of butter from the fridge. This was child’s play!

Remus paid him no mind as he microwaved his butter. The duke was in the zone. With all of his wet ingredients mixed, he was ready to add a pinch of salt and a fuck ton of flour. So he set that bowl aside and pulled out another one, just to make his life a little easier.

He busted out a dry measuring cup and carefully scooped out some flour. He made sure it was packed carefully and leveled before dumping it into the clean bowl. He repeated the process a couple times until he was satisfied.

Roman pulled his melted butter from the microwave and tried not to laugh. Remus' dish was ruined already, yet he was still trying, foolishly whisking his flour. How admirable, yet so futile!

Roman poured his butter into the mixing bowl and let it incorporate. While that happened, he stole the flour from Remus and tried to be a good sport.

Remus knew Roman was fighting off laughter with his petty snickers. He could laugh all he wanted. Whisking his flour was less tedious than sifting it in some doohickey! And it was easier to mix sifted flour by hand!

Not that Roman was going to sift his flour at all. Remus watched with bated breath as Roman poured it in, straight from the bag. Without turning off the mixer. The disaster looming over the prince was too good to miss!

The cloud of white particulates exploded in Roman’s face and flour spilled out around the bowl. Roman stumbled back and miraculously set the bag of flour on the counter without much more mess.

Of course, while Roman had some restraint when it came to laughter, Remus did not. He keeled over, cackling at Roman as he tried to dust off his face. The poor prince still had some water on his skin from washing off the egg, and the flour soaked it up into a gummy mess.

“If you want Elizabethan makeup, use lead like a good cosplayer!” Remus wheezed, “Or are you trying to be a clown? You don’t need makeup for that!”

“If I wanted to look like a clown I would grow a mustache!” Roman snapped and rubbed the flour off his eyes.

“You’d look hot for once if you did!” Remus wheezed and dipped his finger in his wet ingredients.

Roman was far too irate to notice that slight movement. And he only got more irate when Remus bopped him on the nose and beamed.

“Now you really look like a clown!”

Roman's eye twitched when he realized what Remus had done.

“You revolting cretin!” he snapped and shoved Remus away from him. Remus laughed and got back to work. He could have his fun later. He had a task to complete!

“You're the one who got covered in salmonella!” he jeered and slowly added a third of his flour to his wet ingredients.

“You put blood on my face!”

“Purified blood, milk, butter, water, and yeast!” Remus corrected and mixed his dough, “Safer than anything in your bowl!”

Roman grumbled under his breath and checked his dough. The flour was mixed in but he would need more. He poured more in, much more carefully, lest he waste more.

By the time he was satisfied with his dough, Remus was done mixing his monstrosity and setting up the counter to knead it. Roman would probably have to knead his dough as well.

But first he would have to come to terms with the fact that Remus' dough looked like someone's insides as he scooped it from the bowl. Roman watched in abject horror as Remus slapped his reddened dough on the floured counter. He began to knead it roughly, slapping it with glee. The worst part was his grunting.

"You close? You close?" he gasped with a twisted grin, as if he would get a response.

"Yeah, you're a bad bad boy," he said and slapped his dough a couple times, "You close?"

Roman wished he could be anywhere else, doing anything else. He was really set on proving this perverted lunatic wrong, enough to endure this idiotic display.

“You know you need to knead that, right?” Remus asked when he realized Roman was just gawking at him.

“Are you finished practicing for your next pornographic film?” Roman huffed and crossed his arms. He hated how filthy his jacket was.

Remus laughed and shook his head. It was better for his thoughts if he didn’t get suggestive with only Roman there. He got back to kneading his dough, digging the heel of his palms into it.

“Where's the money, Lebowski?!” he shouted as he continued to work. Roman could live with that.

There was plenty of flour left on the counter from his mistake, so he simply plopped his dough on the counter and got to work. He was not pleased with how sticky his dough was, clinging to his fingers. Remus' wasn't sticking to his!

What was worse, Remus finished kneading his dough before Roman could get it into a single mass. Roman growled to himself and got to work, ignoring the world around him. That was the perfect chance for Remus to strike.

The duke conjured a pair of rubber gloves that completely covered his arms, and he stole Roman's bowl and mixing paddle. Granted they joined the two bowls he used, and the measuring cups, and the tiny bowl Roman used for his butter, so it wasn't sabotage. He just needed to wash the dishes.

Remus was either very quick or Roman was struggling a lot, because he got all of the dishes done and even got the two bowls he had used greased for the next step.

“Well, Pissy,” Remus said and set one of the bowls by Roman, “It's time to cover these and let them rise for like an hour or so!”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because I feel like it,” he shrugged, “And you really need any excuse to shower and change faster!”

Roman really couldn't deny that. He was a hot mess, and princes were supposed to slay. So he chucked his dough into the bowl before sinking out without his usual flourish.

Remus took pity on him and covered his bowl with a warm, damp towel. Roman would absolutely need help whether he wanted it or not. He was so fortunate that he had a brother who didn't want to win because of his own stubborn stupidity.

Once he was done covering his own dough he pulled out three sticks of butter to soften for the filling. Then Remus left the kitchen to get his hand mixer, since he would need it if Roman refused to share the stand mixer. He knew his brother all too well. But he would show that prince what happens when pride clouds the mind.

(2)(3)

#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #creativitwins #food mention tw #sex mention tw #blood mention tw #ocd mention #might as well post it here too i guess #sandyscribed

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loreleismusings99 · 1 year ago

Text

Two Body Problem

Ch 4

[Masterlist]

Qualifying exams are stressful. coming to terms with budding romantic feelings is somehow even more stressful. In which Mark and the reader critique each others' work and a surprising amount of sleep happens.

Thank you for reading! sorry this took so long to get out, I just graduated(can't believe I have a bachelor's degree now omg), and my life has been kind of a whirlwind lately, but I'm glad I was able to get this out. I don't think this is my strongest chapter, but I can move on to other parts of the story now this is done. As always, please let me know of ways I can improve this and if there's anything that should be fixed about this. Tysm, and I hope y'all are having a wonderful holiday season! Happy Perihelion Day!

also, y'all, I am running out of Matt Damon gifs to use for these so if you have any suggestions, please send them to me!

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

God, my back hurts…

You shift under your blanket and grumble at the uncomfortably stiff structure that's currently cradling you. Cracking open an eye, you look around at your surroundings, becoming increasingly familiar as the clouds of sleep part and slowly return your senses to you. Why am I in the living room? Cracking open the other eye, you’re nearly blinded by the morning’s sunlight. Letting out a raspy “ugh…” at the unpleasant stimulus, you turn your head into your blanket again to shield your eyes from the offending ball of ionized hydrogen.

A new piece of sensory information halts your thoughts almost completely when you bury your face in your blanket though; notes of honey with an afterthought of what might be soil flood your senses, layered with something bergamot-y and a mystery spice that gives warmth to the smell. The smell reminds you of your night in the library, labs full of undergrads extracting caffeine from tea leaves, and office hours in the too-cramped grad office in the biosciences building. You remember a hand brushing yours as you both reach for the same homework packet, then mousy blond hair, striking green eyes, and a smattering of freckles.

The realization that your blanket smells like Mark hits you like a freight train and you're suddenly ripped from the clutches of sleep as he fills your senses. You try to find it within you, but you can’t quite locate the discomfort you thought you’d experience being confronted with Mark’s presence--however fleeting and ephemeral-- first thing in the morning. The feelings it stirs within you are… pleasant?? Being enveloped by the earthy scent is calming for whatever reason; like being held, wrapped in a profound sense of home and safety that you rarely have felt in your adult life. He must wear lavender… you think, trying to explain away the state you're in before drifting off again, sleeping in for the first time in a long while.

☆☆☆

“I'm sorry, you did what?!” Mark whirls around, his sandwich still clutched in his left hand while his right is holding his laptop in a precariously loose grip.

Colin rolls his eyes before responding to Mark's dramatic outburst. “Oh please, don't act so scandalized; that's a completely normal and average thing to ask--”

The door slamming at almost midnight tonight was certainly not on Colin’s bingo sheet for the evening’s events, but it was a harbinger of more unexpected happenings starting with Mark’s sour mood after returning from what should have been an enjoyable get-together with his colleagues in the bioengineering department.

“Sure, yes, normally, but they’re about the least average individual I’ve met up until this point in my life, Colin; you can’t just--” Colin has had a front-row seat to Mark’s gradual descent into denial for almost 6 months at this point. As Mark starts waxing poetic about how inviting you over to do moc quals presentations together would be the single worst decision Colin’s made, he remembers the night he came back from that mixer the two of you met in late spring earlier this year.

“The fucking audacity, how did they get this far being so unprofessional--” Mark tosses his bag onto their shared couch a mere foot away from where Colin was sitting writing up a first draft of the introduction for his thesis proposal on improving science communication with the general public while avoiding misleading sensationalism. Mark storms off into his room before poking his head out the door to say, “Did you know using a switch case to find the number of elements in an array is apparently--” Mark mimes air quotes “‘so clunky that it should be considered a syntax error’? Fucking hell…”

As Mark ducks back into his room grumbling, Colin responds with,“ Mark, I promise you I had no clue… and good evening, why do you look and sound like someone just told you agriculture and botany are the same thing?” Colin waits for Mark’s response as he stomps out of his room, having exchanged his business casual garb for his pajamas, and sulks into their kitchen.

“Oh, no reason. I just had the displeasure of getting publically ridiculed by a EE who wouldn’t know the difference between a spanner and a set of calipers, their head’s so fucking deep in electronics they don’t know how to communicate with other humans.” after grabbing a bottle of lemonade from the fridge, Mark collapses down on the chair to Colin’s left, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

He has it bad… Colin remembers thinking, as he does now, as he watches Mark run up his blood pressure, postulating about critiques you haven’t even had the chance to make on his quals paper and presentation yet. “Mark… Mark, listen.” Colin says to interrupt his wayward roommate’s self-sabotage. “It’s not that serious. They’re going to come over to get their paper looked at too--actually, they’re presenting the same day as you. They’re coming here with the same level of vulnerability as you. I don’t think they’ll go easy on you, but I don’t think they'd be cruel either.”

Colin waits a couple of seconds before asking,“... what’s their name?” Mark pauses and looks up at the ceiling with a faraway look in his eye before saying your name, calmly for the first time since he’s returned home for the evening. Colin and Mark sit in this pause before Mark continues, describing how you were a vision of confidence and poise in your sweater vest, oxfords, and slacks--likely due to unfounded pride, he added after snapping out of his momentary revere. It took everything in Colin’s power not to laugh in Mark’s face every time he tried to explain away every positive thing he noted about you, from your ‘surprising competence in biomechanical design to your managing to land a graduate assistantship in one of the best-funded bio-instrumentation labs in the department.

“How would you know? Hell, they were probably thrilled by the idea of getting to take me down a peg and ruin my faith in my thesis in the process--”

“Well, they certainly seemed eager, but likely not for the reason you think…” Colin responds absent-mindedly as he returns to prepping his presentation materials for their moc quals presentations.

Mark pauses in his nervous pacing and looks finally directly at Colin before asking, “What… exactly did they say? When you asked?”

“My, you’re awfully interested in the minutia of their reactions to you. I wonder why…” Colin postulates slyly, looking up from his computer and smirking.

It takes a few seconds of gear-turning in Mark's head before he finally picks up on what Colin is insinuating before the man in question lets out a guffaw and states, “Absolutely not. No. Impossible, inconceivable--”

“Explain yourself then; you've been emotionally constipated since the day you met them,” Colin crosses his arms before continuing, “You aren't very good at hiding the inner machinations of your head you know, it's written all over in how you act.”

“What I feel for them is probably the farthest thing from affection, they make me sick to my stomach--”

“You sure those aren't just butterflies?--”

“Can you please just answer my question?” Mark sighs in exasperation, and Colin lets out a chuckle before explaining how the events transpired.

“So, I found them in the lab--I think they were soldering something? Honestly, it's beyond what I was willing to ask about so I don't know, but I asked them how they were doing and if they're interested in doing moc quals with us--”

“How do you know where their lab is?”

“I majored in journalism, Mark--I have my methods, don't worry about it. Anyway, they perked up at the mention of moc quals and said that they're about to give their presentation on Friday and that they'd love to have extra practice presenting to people who would ask similar questions to what their committee would ask them. They even mentioned that, quote,‘ despite your likely lack of appreciation for their work, your opinions would be useful,’ end-quote.” Colin utters the last sentence with a chuckle.

Mark opens his mouth to say to retort before he's interrupted by a gentle knock at the door.

Mark looks up at the door and then frantically around the apartment, looking at the mess of dishes he had left from his dinner yesterday before uttering a soft “shit!”, tossing his computer onto the couch next to Colin, and holding his sandwich in his mouth as he picks up his dishes and runs them into the kitchen. “You didn’t say they’d be here now!!” Mark yells from behind the divider wall that separates the kitchen from the living/dining room area, hiding dirty dishes in a panicked frenzy as Colin gets up to let you in.

“You didn’t let me get that far before you started questioning me--Hi there, welcome in!” Colin calls over his shoulder before greeting you and stepping to the side of the open door to let you into his and Mark’s shared space.

“Hey, thanks for inviting… me…” You look around like this is the first time you've seen a room before saying“Wow, you two have a nice place” with what looks like a sparkle of awe in your eyes.

“Thanks,” Mark finally decides to pipe up after exiting the kitchen and leaning against the wall. “Sorry for the mess though, I didn't know we were going to have company.” Mark forces through a fake smile as he looks over to Colin with thinly veiled, panicked irritation.

“Ah, so the clutter and dirty dishes aren't a half-baked preparation strategy?” You jest, dawning a coy smirk before turning to Colin and asking, “Shoes on or off?”

Colin's barely able to get in an ‘either is fine’ before Mark rebuts with, “You wound me with how much you underestimate my very complex plan to distract you.” Colin almost sprains an ocular muscle rolling his eyes at Mark's attempt to play it cool after nearly having an aneurysm about you coming over as the man in question ducks back behind the false wall before saying, “I'm making Pizza Bagel Bites for us.” There's a short pause before Mark pokes his head around the wall to regard you again before asking, “Do you like Bagel Bites?”

“Yeah, Bagel Bites are fine.”

“Are you sure? I can make something else if you want; we also have hot pockets, an actual frozen pizza, and we might have some leftover soup from Thanksgiving too--”

You rest a hand on your hip and sit into it before asking, with a huff, “Mark, honestly l, anything is fine; are we going to do this or are you afraid my presentation's going to be better than yours?”

At this point, Colin has sat back down on their couch and is having the time of his life watching what's unfolding before him. He looks over to the kitchen where Mark is still hidden and listens as he hears a clamoring commotion of a pan being filled with frozen Bagel Bites and the furious beeps of the oven turning on to pre-heat before he rushes out of the kitchen, picks up his laptop, sits down, and opens it.

Mark dawns a haughty smirk and a competitive gleam sparks in his eyes as he says, typing away on his computer, “Oh, you have no idea the magnitude of scrutiny you've just unleashed upon your work…”

You let out a huff of a laugh before saying, “I expect nothing less” and opening up your laptop and sharing with the two of them your paper and presentation as the lot of you get started on your moc reviews.

The process is fairly simple: one of you presents while the other two act as your panel committee, asking questions, and making suggestions at the end of your presentation. Colin goes first, presenting his findings from his literature review of surveys and short-term studies of the efficacy of popular science news and the need for more long-term studies. This is something he's practiced hundreds of times, so the questions you throw at him aren't surprising--though, he is quite taken aback by how well-versed you are in pedagogical techniques in science communication and makes a note to pick your brain about your experience later.

You go next, Mark having half-offered half-volunteered you to go next, he's probably still trying to calm his nerves, Colin thinks as he watches Mark shift awkwardly in his seat while you stand from your spot on the couch next to him after setting up your presentation on your computer. Colin tries his best to focus on the lovely presentation on flexible electronics and their use in vitals monitoring, but he can’t help but be distracted by Mark's increasingly adorable investment in your presentation, actively listening and asking questions but with a faraway look in his eyes as he gazes at you with what can only be described as adoration as you passionately expound upon the process of medication release in implantable medical sensing devices. You finish your presentation and Mark enthusiastically jumps up to present last, evidently forgetting his nerves from earlier and diving straight into the complexities of irrigation and sustainable crop cultivation in extreme environments. Colin takes note of the understated excitement you exhibit at Mark's passion for his field, so reserved that he almost missed the way you attempted to block a blush and giggle at his peculiar use of casual, nearly comical lexicon in a presentation meant to convince the academics at the top of the botany ivory tower to give him a chance at becoming a professional scientist.

After presenting you all went over the notes you made on each other's presentations, discussing why certain word choice decisions were made, how each of you dealt with being confronted with A gap in your knowledge, et cetera. Mark was chewing on the end of a red pen while looking over the notes and suggestions you provided for his presentation before making a face and asking, “What’s wrong with my wording here? I think this is a perfectly valid term to describe nutrient uptake efficiency in--”

“Mark, do I need to tell you why you can’t say ‘slorp’ in a Ph.D. qualification oral exam?” You look up from your paper, now marked up with notes from Mark and Colin, and look pointedly at Mark, your mouth quirked into a poorly concealed smirk. Mark starts falling over his words trying to explain his reasoning--or lack thereof--while failing at holding back enthusiastic laughter.

Mark turns to Colin and asks, “Well, what do you think--do you see the academic value of using slorp in a presentation?”

Colin rests a hand gently on Mark’s shoulder before responding. “Mark, my dearest friend, I absolutely do not,” Colin says through bouts of laughter and it puts you in stitches next to Mark, laughing so hard that the only noise you can make is a high-pitched wheeze as you’re doubled over by your glee.

Mark dramatically clutches his shirt right over his heart and says, “Et tu, Brute??” before succumbing to his laughter.

☆☆☆

The empty chair to your right buzzes with the vibrations your restless leg sends through the floor as you await the panel's decision on whether or not you need to reconsider your place in the Ph.D. program. Every time you try to listen in on the conversation your advisor and mentors are having in the room behind you, Hana gently squeezes your hand to remind you to at least try not to obsess about your presentation. It's done now, the ball's in their court. All you can do now is wait and try not to send your blood pressure through the roof.

I think that went alright…you think, threading your fingers between Hana's in an attempt to ground yourself. I answered all of their questions correctly… I think. They didn't say so if I didn't; would they have done that? Fuck, what if they just decided to say nothing-

The door to Hana’s and your left opens suddenly to reveal your advisor, Dr. Ameer, poking his bald and bespectacled head out from behind the door before stepping out and standing to his full height, imposing from your current seated perspective.

He looks down at you for a moment before smiling proudly and holding out his hand. “Congratulations!” You take his hand and shake it feeling like the air got kicked out of your chest, only able to let out a breathless squeeze of a ‘thank you’ that your advisor lightly laughs at. “Excellent treatment of the current gap in the literature on the use of implantables for tissue regeneration for rehabilitative purposes in particular--it makes a great start to a thesis project.” He states, taking off his reading glasses.

You nod and say another “thank you,” stronger this time now that your tensed muscles have finally relaxed and Hana's got you wrapped up in a sideways hug. “I'll make sure to, uhm, send you my availability for the next week so we can discuss how I did and how I can improve. We should also start to discuss my thesis--where to start, what we're capable of doing, et cetera.”

“Absolutely. Don't forget to celebrate too, though. You work hard, you deserve the rest.” He says, sitting down in the chair to your right.

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Hana says, clapping you on the shoulder, “I'll make sure they have at least a little fun within the next 24 hours.”

“Thank you for your work keeping them sane.” Dr. Ameer says through a laugh.

“Is this an intervention?” you ask, looking back and forth at the two of them as they both guffaw at your bafflement.

“Alright,” Dr. Ameer starts, standing back up before saying, “Congratulations again, I'll see you on Monday.”

“Thank you, and see you then.” You respond, allowing yourself to finally smile with a gleam of pride in your eyes as he nods and walks off, presumably to his office.

You wait until you know he's out of earshot before bellowing out a, “Thank fucking God…” as Hana squeals, shaking your shoulders in pent-up excitement.

“Hey, don't act like you didn't nail it in there, I heard you, you were great!! Oozing confidence and academic splendor!” Hana responds, dramatically clutching a fist over her heart. “We have to celebrate properly tonight; maybe drinks and dinner at my place--”

“Please don't make it a big thing, it's not like I just defended my thesis,” you say through an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, but we're at least inviting over Colin and Mark--they just passed their quals too.”

An Incredulous and confused look twists your face when you ask, “How do you know? I thought they were presenting just now too?”

“Trivia night people have a group chat--here, look” Hana takes out her phone and shows you a text from Colin with a picture of him smiling with his arm around what looks like Mark, his head tilted back in relief while Colin ruffles his hair.

Your eyes linger on Mark's neck a little too long before you pull your gaze away and clear your throat, saying, “I see.”

“Hey,” Hana says, putting a hand on your shoulder, “we don't have to invite them, or anyone for that matter, especially if they'll make you uncomfortable.”

“No no, thank you, uhm, there's nothing wrong with that. If anything, I probably owe the two of them a thank you, we presented to each other and they both offered some awesome suggestions that I wouldn’t’ve thought of otherwise.”

Hana regards you silently for a moment, eyes narrowing before they widen in shock as she says, “No fucking way.”

“… What?”

“I mean, the two of you becoming civil with each other finally was to be expected, but I never would've thought--”

“Oh,” you say rolling your eyes as you go to stand up, “Okay, I see where this is going--”

“So I'm right then?” Hana grabs her bag and goes to follow you.

“Absolutely not.”

“You were just gazing longingly at Mark!”

“I do not gaze at him,” you wheeze out with a laugh as you push open the doors to the Tech building.

“Okay, so why did you just freeze right now? I refuse to believe it was a nondescript brain fart and you just so happened to zone out looking at Mark's trachea--” Hana finishes her sentence in a whisper to not attract the attention of the undergrads walking past them in the courtyard.

You whip around to look Hana in the eye as you whisper-yell, “What I feel for Mark is the farthest thing from attraction, I can't possibly think of a world where he would inspire anything other than disgust--”

“Denial is a river in Egypt, my friend, and we are in the midwest--”

“God, I can't believe you--” You whirl back around and start walking off in the direction of your apartment.

“I'm inviting them over, and be at mine by 5!!” Hana shouts at your retreating form and you throw up a thumbs up to show your acknowledgment.

Your mind wanders on your way back home; you remember eating a Pizza Bagel during your moc quals with Colin and Mark, the latter suddenly saying, “Wait! Hold still” causing you to freeze in your tracks and your eyes to widen into saucers, thinking a bug or something crawled onto you. He reaches over and gently swipes a thumb across the corner of your mouth before saying“ Rogue pizza sauce” before moving on to the next thing that caught his attention. You're still frozen in place, trying to process what just happened, when Mark absentmindedly licks the tomato sauce off his thumb like he forgot that that was just on your face and not his. Now, something like this usually wouldn’t surprise you--especially given Mark's tendency to forget the simplest of things--but for whatever reason your brain short-circuited; at a complete loss for words, for once in your life not a single thought crossed your mind--just complete radio silence and a faint fluttering feeling in your chest. You didn't notice it at the time, perhaps because you didn't want to, but that fluttering felt different than you expected. You wanted to feel a flush of anger wash over you at his invasion of your personal space but all you could muster was the nauseating fondness you felt that night he walked you home after trivia night.

This realization makes your face twist into a scowl. “Shit…” you say, burying your face deep into your coat.

When you enter Hana’s apartment building, the weight and warmth from your jacket and the building hallway make your skin prickle with sweat. You unzip your jacket and tug a little on your turtleneck’s collar before knocking on her door. A muffled “Hold on!” sounds from behind the door before Hana flings the door open a few seconds later. “Come on in!” she hurries you in while carrying a pan of what looks like an attempt at caramelizing… something?

You take off your shoes and place them on the small rack set up next to the front door before hanging up your coat next to Hana’s on a nearby coat hook. “What are you making?” you question, the medley of smells hitting your nose almost making your eyes water.

“Chicken parm--assuming I'm doing this right,” says over her shoulder while rushing back into her kitchenette, trying not to spill the contents of the very hot pot on her person.

“Hana, I'm not sure if you're supposed to caramelize anything in a chicken parmesan dish?” you follow her timidly into the kitchen, not entirely sure you want to bear witness to what she is concocting.

“You’ve gotta have more faith in my process,” Hana says confidently over her shoulder right before the pan on the stove in front of her bursts into flame. There's a brief scramble As the two of you try to put out the fire, eventually being left with a charred mess sitting in the pan with the two of you staring at it blankly.

“... Portillo's?”

“Yeah,” you respond with a light huff.

You're drying off and putting away dishes as Hana passes them to you after giving them a thorough scrubbing to get off the char from her attempt at cooking dinner. After about two minutes of this Hana puts down the dish she's working on and huffs before saying, “I'm putting on some music, any requests?”

You pause and think for a moment before answering, “Um… I don't know; What've you been listening to lately?”

“This is gonna sound kind of weird, but I've been on a bit of an ABBA kick lately.” She says, drying her hands off before retrieving her phone from the front pocket of her ‘That's not Burnt, that's Flavor’ apron.

“Knowing you, that's not weird at all.” You deadpan before the two of you let out a stream of giggles. Hana taps away at her phone for a couple of seconds, and Chiquitita starts playing from a speaker on the far side of the kitchen to your left. “Oo, that's a good one.”

“Darling, they're all good ones,” Hana says through a playful smirk, making you laugh. The rest of the otherwise boring task goes by much more slowly but more enjoyably with the two of you intermittently stopping to sing along at the top of your lungs with whatever song caught your collective attention, Hana occasionally using whatever cooking utensil was within her grasp as an impromptu fake-microphone. She's in the middle of a surprisingly impressive belt during Lay All Your Love on Me when a confident knocking echoes through the apartment. “Ope, is that them?” she inquires in a suddenly quieter voice with what you detect as a hint of bashfulness--possibly at the prospect of being heard through the door. She briefly checks her phone while you dry the last plate and put it away. “Yep!” she says before doffing her apron and nearly prancing to her front door.

You turn around and open up a cupboard to put away the plate you're holding, but as you reach up you feel a pair of eyes on your back. You close the cabinet door and whirl around only to be met with a pair of infuriatingly disarming green eyes. In your periphery, you can see Mark’s shoulders pitch up slightly before a toothy smile blooms across his face, catching you off guard with the sincerity of it. You clumsily return his smile before congratulating him before dawning a defensive smirk and saying, “I’m glad our corrections weren’t ignored” jokingly implying that was the only thing stopping him from failing.

A grimace distorts Mark’s smile before he opens his mouth to speak, pausing for a second before finally letting out a laugh and saying, “I was about to say that I had to because Botany isn’t exactly as easy as what you do, but saying something is only biomedical sensor engineering doesn’t exactly have the punch I ‘m looking for.” He and Colin take off their shoes and you and Mark close the distance between the two of you before he continues. “Glad to hear you passed too--what is that smell, is something burning?” Mark interrupts himself, halfway through crossing his arms when he finally catches a whiff of the residual char in the air from Hana’s cooking.

“That would be the aftermath of Hana’s attempt at cooking; don’t worry, we called Portillos as soon as the pan lit on fire.” You quickly add after seeing the color drain a bit from Mark’s cheeks.

You wonder if they’ve always been that rosy before he frantically looks between you and Hana and asks, “You lit a pan on fire?!”

“Only a little bit, we put it out quickly--the alarm didn’t even go off.” Hana dismisses Mark’s worry with a wave of her hand while walking over to her speaker to turn its volume down.

“That’s a shame, we could’ve roasted non-stick flavored marshmallows,” Colin jests from his spot at Hana’s kitchen island before she sticks her tongue out at him, sending the lot of you into a laughing fit. “Well, what do we want to do until the dogs get here?”

Hana pauses to think for a second before ducking to rifle through a set of board and card games she keeps under her living room speaker and reemerges with a small red box. “‘We’re Not Really Strangers’?” she punctuates her question by lightly shaking the box, “I’ve got a few packs mixed in here, so we shouldn’t get any repeats if we’re waiting a while.”

Colin responds in the affirmative before enthusiastically walking over to her couch and plopping down with a ‘whoomph.’ Mark shifts next to you before stating in an almost whisper, “This ought to be interesting.” The two of you look at each other and you scan his face, taking in the mirth evident in his lightly freckled face and you lightly nudge him with a wheeze of a laugh before walking over to get a seat at Hana’s coffee table.

How can one person be so fucking warm?? You internally hiss to yourself while sitting next to Mark. The two of you still have about an inch of separation between the two of you but even so, you feel like the warmth radiating off his body is smothering you in a calm you’re trying to steel yourself against. You’re sitting in a half-crisscross position with your leg resting on top of your foot now to make it harder for you to subconsciously inch closer to Mark to try to remedy the ever-present chill that usually plagues you--with what appears to be little success considering the two of you stared out on this couch with about 6 inches of space between the two of you. Mark guffaws heartily at Hana’s answer to the card Colin just pulled and you can feel the seat shake with his laughter, the proximity of his person to yours making your heart ache dully. This is miserable, I’m miserable, why is this happening, why me? Why him?? You wonder to yourself with a slightly pained smile and chuckle while Hana pulls a card from the pile in the center of the table.

“Let’s see--ough, I hate this one; ‘What are your plans for the future?’ survive this Ph.D.” Hana immediately answers with a wheeze of a laugh putting the card in the discard pile.

“Honestly, same--I’m just glad my quals are done so I can focus my time and energy on research,” Colin answers before taking a sip of his water and looking to Mark for his answer.

“Alright, are we talking about, like, the next five years or more of what my endgame is for what I want to do with my life? Because I wouldn’t be able to securely pin that down if my life depended on it.” Mark laughs after Hana tells him to say whatever he has an answer for. He pauses for a moment before continuing. “Well,” he begins, crossing his arms, looking up at the ceiling, and slightly adjusting his position, spreading his legs slightly; it takes every ounce of willpower in every atom of your body not to look down at his legs as he does so. “I’m planning on submitting to the NASA GSRP soon, so, assuming I get awarded it, I’ll be working more with botanists at Kennedy Space Center to develop cultivation experiments for the ARES missions--If they ever happen at all.” Mark finishes with a scoff, making you frown. With the tumultuous nature of how government is run, it's becoming increasingly difficult to gauge if there’ll be funding for ambitious space missions like the budding ARES program. Mark abruptly turns to you--itching to turn the attention away from himself--and asks, “What about you?”

You’re given pause by the way Mark abruptly changes the subject, but answer anyway. “Oh, um, I’m headed to Pasadena in the spring; I’m working with one of the engineers there on electronics for a Lunar water surveyor--seems like we’re both NASA-bound. You’ll have to tell me more about the project you’re submitting for, it seems interesting--we might even be able to collaborate a little bit, depending on how far my work on this surveyor goes.”

You end your answer with a coy smirk and for a flash of a second, you could've sworn you saw Mark’s eyes briefly cast downwards to your lips before rocketing back up to meet yours. No, that can’t be possible. God, I’m losing it-- you think to yourself before the man in question interrupts your internal agonizing. “Oh, so you think I’m good enough to get the fellowship?” He inquires with a jesting tone, ducking his head to look up at you through his eyelashes, his vermillion eyes scrutinizing you through the varying shades of blond and brown.

You look at him incredulously and answer before thinking better of voicing your knee-jerk reaction, “Of course; I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” The realization of what you said hits you like a ton of bricks flying at you at Mach 1 as you see Mark’s cheeks flush. Again with the rosy cheeks? Did I make him uncomfortable? Was that too much? Shit, does he think I like him now? Fuck--

“Ah, well, I’ve got nothing to worry about then--if even you think I could do it.” Mark laughs and claps a hand on your shoulder, making you let out a huff and a chuckle in relief at his jovial tone, thinking you’ve narrowly escaped being found out.

“Alright, enough work talk--” Colin captures your attention after letting out a light chuckle and motions for you to pick up a card. “Your turn, Inspector Gadget.”

You lightly chortle before reaching over to pick a card up from the top of the pile of unused cards. “‘Do you think I’m a good kisser?’ Hana, I thought you said these were from the friendship pack???” The whole table bursts into laughter while Hana chokes out a confirmation that it is indeed from the friendship pack. “Alright, out with it, what are your verdicts?” you ask through an exasperated sigh.

“Honestly, I think you’d be a great kisser, remember when we visited Vanessa’s mom in Vegas and you somehow tied two cherry stems with your tongue? While drunk no less--” Hana interrupts herself with her own laughter as you choke on the water you’re drinking at the mention of that night.

“Fuck, I forgot about that!” you cough out. “If it means anything, I had to use my teeth for most of that--I was afraid I was going to swallow the things both times,” you confess with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I don’t know how good of an indicator that is; one of my exes also could tie a cherry stem with his tongue, but the first time we kissed he practically shoved his tongue down my throat.” Colin weighed in with a scoff before continuing, “What do you think Mark?”

Mark pauses for a moment and in that calm, you notice that he’s draped his arm over the seat cushion behind you. In an unexpected wave of wreckless confidence--at least, that’s what you’d call it--you decide to lean back into his arm, immediately relishing in how warm he is. He considers you for a moment, a surprised look on his face before answering, “Honestly I feel like you could go either way; either you’re a mind-numbingly great, or criminally terrible, no in-between” Hana and Colin break into a side-splitting laugh and you ask him to please explain what his reasoning is behind that answer. “You… you--” Mark interrupts his sentence with a breathy laugh, looking up and away from you before continuing. “Alright, look, you… have a lot of surprising things about you and they’re all, like extremes--”

“Yeah???” you interject, your face contorted into an incredulous smirk.

“Yes, let me finish--”

“Please do--”

“So, I think it would be one of those things that you’re, like, inexplicably good at for no fucking reason, or you’d exceed my expectations and be worse than I thought you’d be.” He finishes, barely able to hold back his chortles.

“And what exactly were your expectations?” you ask, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at the revelation that he’s thought about kissing you before. You try your best to stamp out those thoughts before your infuriatingly lovesick brain can indulge in them, thinking God, I’m hopeless. Mark pauses for a second, looking at you apprehensively. You can feel his arm shift on the cushion behind you as he agonizes about whether or not to tell you. “...Mark--”

“That you’d be kind of mid--” he admits with a grimace.

“WOW!” you exclaim, laughing like you just got the air punched out of you. “The amount of confidence you have in me is truly inspiring--is there anything you think I do well?”

“Piss me off--” The four of you lose your minds with laughter; you go to grip your leg to brace yourself against but accidentally slap your hand against Mark’s. The muscles in his leg tense and you freeze. You feel like you should--no, have to--move your hand but for whatever reason the signals your brain is sending to your arm are getting lost in transit, leaving your hand planted steadfastly on top of his quadricep. A spark of surprise flashes through his eyes for a moment before he moves his hand to grasp at yours, still resting on his leg. “You do that perfectly--”

“Fuck off,” you draw your hand out of his grasp, laughing to yourself and unable to look him in the eye.

☆☆☆

After your Portillos arrive you all dig in, opting to put your card game away in favor of watching a Seinfeld rerun while you all eat. Mark tries to focus on his hot dog to get the memory of how your hand felt on his leg out of his mind. I suppose that’s my fault for not noticing how close we were getting. Did they want that? Why did I want that?? Fuck, I hope I didn’t make them uncomfortable-- Mark takes a deep breath after swallowing a mouthful of hot dog to try to calm his racing thoughts. He feels a pair of eyes on him while he zones out watching the TV and turns his gaze in your direction. You stare back at him with an indiscernible expression before asking, “You okay?”

He smiles and nods, trying not to let his inner turmoil show, “Yeah, I’m good--just starting to get a little tired.” At least that much was true; the fatigue of the past couple weeks of preparation for his quals had decided to dump itself on him now that the adrenaline of the whole ordeal had dissipated. You hum and nod before patting him on the back, an alarmingly comforting gesture that Mark didn’t expect to appreciate as much as he did. The four of you continued to watch Seinfeld until he could feel his eyelids begin to droop. Shit, he thought, I can’t be this tired right now, I still need to get home-- His train of thought is interrupted when he feels you slump against his shoulder gently. He looks down at your now asleep form and huffs out a silent laugh, finding you asleep for a second time that week. He looks up to Colin and Hana, who both seem to be engrossed in the exploits of George and Jerry, before he decides to rest his eyes for a second as well, thinking there wasn’t any harm in taking a moment to rest for once. Mark nods off before he can hear Hana and Colin snicker to themselves.

===

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 years ago

Text

A little danger, pt. 9

A little danger - Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sky of Eraklyon x mind!fairy

———— PART 9 ————

Stella: So, tonight’s split into two events. The mixer is where the alums and the students chat, and then the banquet itself, which is just alums and VIPs.

Y/N: Why am I being told this?

Stella: Because you’re part of both events.

Y/N: No.

Stella: You know that’s not a word in my vocabulary.

Y/N: I refuse. That should be somewhere in there, or did Solaria not teach their heiress anything?

Stella: I’ll need your support. I can’t be left alone with Bloom and my uncle.

Y/N: Knowing Bloom is going to be there only reinforces my previous statement. Besides, Sky would kill me if I agreed to this.

Stella: If you come, I won’t tell Rosalind you snuck out of campus with Sky.

Y/N: You wouldn’t dare!

Stella: Don’t underestimate my desperation.

Y/N: Fine! But I’m not happy about it.

Stella: I don’t need you to be happy, I need you to attend.

Y/N: What can you tell me about your uncle? Is he on our side?

Stella: Yeah, he sees people for who they truly are. And he’s not afraid to say it. There’s no love lost between him and Rosalind.

Y/N: I hope you don’t mind if I do some digging about that myself.

Stella: Like…digging through his brain?

Y/N: Perhaps.

Stella: Just don’t leave him like a zombie.

Y/N: No promises.

Sky stands nervously outside Y/N's front door, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t keen on spending the evening in his suit, the tie choking him to death for hours, but Y/N seemed excited for it and it’s the first time she’s been excited about anything lately. Sky wanted everything to be perfect.

Drawing a deep breath, he knocks on the door.

After a moment, Y/N answers the door, looking stunning in a gorgeous blue gown. The dress hugs her curves in all the right places, and the color perfectly complements her complexion. Sky's jaw drops in amazement as he takes in the sight of her.

"Wow," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "You look incredible."

Y/N blushes at his words, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks at the way Sky is looking at her. She had spent hours getting ready, making sure every detail was perfect, and it was clear that her effort had paid off.

"Thank you," she smiles up at him. "I'm almost ready, I just need to grab my purse."

As she turns to grab her bag, Sky can't help but admire the way the dress moves with her, the fabric flowing gracefully around her legs. He had never seen her look so elegant and sophisticated before, and he couldn't wait to show her off at the dinner. No one will come even close to her beauty, he’s certain of it.

"You look like a movie star," he says, grinning at her. "I feel like the luckiest guy in the world to be going out with you tonight."

Y/N laughs, feeling her heart swell with affection for Sky. She’s so glad that she agreed to go this evening, to officially show the world that Sky’s hers, just as she’s his. Most know of their entanglement with each other, but very few can guess just how deeply they care for one another.

"Thanks," she says, slipping her arm through his. "Shall we?"

Sky nods, feeling a surge of excitement as they step out into the cool evening air.

“I knew you’d be dashing in a suit, I didn’t realize you’ll be this handsome though,” Y/N smirks as she senses the rush of emotion in Sky. Some people call it butterflies, but for a mind fairy, it feels a lot more like bees buzzing when they find a flower and they’re trying to perform a dance to invite other bees for a feast.

“Considering how you look tonight, I had to be worthy of you”, Sky presses a butterfly kiss to her temple before he leads her to the door.

They arrive at the event and Y/N can feel her heart beating faster in her chest. She's a bit nervous, aware it could be the night they finally get rid of Rosalind. Stella’s plan is risky, especially when it relies on Bloom doing what’s necessary, but at least they’re doing something.

Sky squeezes her hand reassuringly, and she beams at him.

Together, they step into the grand room, and immediately all eyes are on them. Y/N can feel the gazes of the other guests as they look at the pair, hand in hand, entering the room together.

The room is filled with elegantly dressed guests, and the decor is lavish and opulent. But Y/N is only focused on Sky, and she can feel his eyes on her, a look of pride and affection in his gaze.

As they make their way through the room, Y/N feels a mix of excitement and nervousness. But Sky's calm presence beside her makes her feel more confident and secure.

As they move further into the room, several people stop to compliment Y/N on her stunning blue gown. She blushes, feeling a bit self-conscious, but Sky beams with pride at her.

"Thank you," he says, his arm still around her waist. "I’m glad you talked me into coming tonight."

Y/N smiles at him, feeling her heart swell with affection. “Well, I needed arm candy and you delivered.”

Chuckling, he nods. “Always available if you call.”

“Where have you two been?” Stella’s smile is frozen and Y/N doesn’t need to use her powers to know how fake it is.

“Do you really want to know?” Y/N wiggles her eyebrows, making Stella grimace.

“Eww! No!”

Giggling, Y/N winks. “So, what’s with the panic and the fake smile?”

“Bloom decided she wants to go by herself.” Stella waves at a guest on the other side of the room, gracious by anyone’s standards. Yet Y/N can sense her dread. It wrapped itself around Stella’s mind, twisting and turning with each passing second.

“She did what?” Sky frowns, scanning the room for signs of Bloom, making Y/N sigh.

“She did what she always does, which is fuck up.”

Stella’s eyes widen before nodding reluctantly. “Uh, hold that thought.” Setting off after Beatrix, Stella left the two alone.

“You’ve got to be kidding me”, Sky furrows his eyebrows, squinting as if he doesn’t believe his eyes.

Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N tries to follow his line of sight. “Gonna need some context, babe. I can’t see anything.”

Huffing, Sky begins to make his way across the room. With her eyebrows raised, Y/N grabs onto him, pulling him to a stop.

“What is happening?” She hisses, looking around to make sure no one’s paying them any mind. The last thing they need now is to make a scene.

“Stay here”, Sky tries but the glare he receives from her is answer enough. Grabbing her hand, he slows down so she can walk with him and once he arrives at his destination, a quiet gasp leaves her lips.

“Nice enough to make up for burning my house down?” A tight-lipped smile appears on Saul’s face.

“Ah, your house wasn’t that great”, Andreas chuckles.

“What the hell”, Y/N looks at Saul, her confusion palpable as she processes the sight before her. She had been under the impression that Saul was on the run, not hanging out with the very man who was out to get him. Her mind races with questions and concerns, her brow furrowing as she tries to make sense of the situation.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’re all family, aren’t we?” Andreas grins, staring at Y/N.

Staring right back at him, she didn’t hold back. Diving into his mind had left Andreas stumbling back, unable to blink as Y/N rummages through his memories. She focuses all her energy on trying to penetrate his mind, leaving no stone unturned as she searched for Saul, finding the two agreeing on working together and Rosalind giving Saul full pardon. Y/N knows finding more details can be beneficial, but as she concentrates harder and harder, she begins to feel a splitting headache forming at the base of her skull. The pressure in her head builds, and she can feel her temples throbbing with pain.

Y/N tries to push through the discomfort, desperate to understand what's going on inside Andreas's head. But the pain only intensifies, and she can feel her vision blurring as the headache reaches a crescendo.

Finally, she has to give up. The pain is too much, and she can feel her mind screaming for relief.

With a small grunt, she breaks eye contact. Closing her eyes, she turns her head to the side, feeling Sky’s arm around her. She’s pulled closer to him, her temple leaning on his chest. Swallowing thickly, she opens her eyes slowly, focusing her vision with a few blinks.

“Did you just”, Andreas begins and she smiles faintly.

“You thought you could train yourself to withstand a mind fairy?” Y/N licks her lips. “Maybe it would have worked on a weaker fairy, but not me.”

“Yet you seem to struggle past the surface”, Andreas reaches out to touch her arm, but Sky steps in front of her.

“Think again”, Sky speaks, almost like he’s challenging him to try, to give him a valid excuse to punch him.

“I’m glad you’re not on the run anymore”, Y/N tells Saul. “Just wish you would have told us, instead of catching us off guard like this.”

Nodding, Saul sighs. “We’ll talk later. I can’t stay here until the pardon is official.”

Wrapping an arm around her, Sky leads Y/N away to a quiet corner where they can stop holding their breath.

“You tried to read his mind in public?” Sky whispers, agitated by her recklessness.

“Pardon you, I succeeded.”

“This isn’t a game”, Sky frowns, his eyes alight with anger as he grabs her wrist. “What if he had reported you or arrested you? I can’t fucking lose you”, his eyes fall to his tightly wrapped hand around her delicate wrist. Releasing her, he rubs his forehead. “I can’t believe I grabbed you like that. I’m sorry.”

Leaning her head on his arm, she smiles softly. “It didn’t hurt. I’d make stop and let me go if it did.”

“Please do.” Sky’s eyes are misty as he continues his earnest plea, “I fully support you taking my mind for a joy ride if I hurt you.”

Nodding, she realizes something. All this time, she was so focused on her own feelings and her loss of control, but this is the first time she sees that mirrored in Sky. She knows he’s been suffering ever since Andreas came to Alfea, but she never understood just how much it affected his control too. There’s an edge to him, a temper she never paid much attention to before as it was rarely directed at her.

Her cell phone vibrates.

Aisha: Looks like you three will be tied up during dinner.

Y/N: What about Bloom?

Aisha: She’s been invited by Rosalind. Good luck.

Y/N: Rosalind plus Bloom equals a disaster. Are you sure you don’t need my help? Stella will understand.

Aisha: Flora and I are on it.

“Apparently, Aisha and Flora are going instead of Bloom.”

Sky raises his brows. “Are we happy about that or not?”

“Always better to have a few cool heads on super-secret missions”, Y/N shrugs. “We should go before Stella kills us.”

They arrived just in time for the dinner to start. Sky is between Stella and Y/N who sat next to Bloom. Andreas and Rosalind are seated across from them, and a man, one she presumes is Stella’s uncle.

Y/N takes a deep breath and reaches out to place a hand on Sky's knee, feeling it bounce nervously up and down. She gives him a reassuring smile and squeezes his knee gently.

Sky looks at her, his eyes slightly widened with anxiety. Y/N can feel the tension radiating off him, and she knows that he's nervous about this. She wants to help him calm down, but she doesn't want to draw attention to his nervousness and make him feel embarrassed.

She leans in closer to him, her voice soft and soothing. "Hey, everything's going to be okay," she says. "Just take a deep breath and try to relax. We’ll be out of here the first chance we get."

Sky nods, his eyes still locked on hers. Y/N can see the gratitude in his expression, and she knows that he appreciates her attempt to calm him down. She gives his knee another squeeze and then leans back in her chair, trying to appear relaxed and nonchalant.

In truth, Y/N is nervous too. But being there with Sky makes it easier. She feels more grounded and centered when he's around, and she knows that they can face anything as long as they’re together.

As they continue to sit at dinner, Y/N can feel the nervous energy in the air slowly dissipating. Sky's knee stops bouncing, and he starts to relax a bit more. Y/N can see the tension in his face easing, and she knows that her small gesture of support has made a difference.

“At least Sky was lucky enough to be raised by Saul. Talk about the blind leading the blind”, Stella’s uncle laughs, drawing Y/N’s attention. She tried to drift off for most of the conversation, but the moment Sky’s name was mentioned, her mind couldn’t let it go.

Stella chuckles, “Uncle Arthur!”

“Oh, come on. Now, you know it’s true!” The man turns to Sky, “I mean, no fault to you, but if you and my niece had stayed together”, he drifts off with a mock gasp, “…scandal!”

Sky’s knee is bouncing again. He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the way he clenches his jaw.

“Granted, you seem to have landed on your feet. First, you dated the fairy who transformed, and then you landed the one that is quite possibly the strongest fairy in existence.” Arthur chuckles once more. “Well done.”

“I didn’t realize we were discussing our dating histories at the table”, Y/N smiles politely, but her attention was elsewhere, focused on the thoughts she was picking up from Arthur's mind. It wasn’t a struggle like it was with Andreas, with Arthur, it was like a floodgate had been opened. His thoughts were swirling around in her head, and she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was off.

And then, it hit her like a ton of bricks.

"I know what you're doing," she said, her voice cold and steady as she chained his gaze to herself, implementing a thought in his head, so this part only he can hear. "You're cheating on your wife, and it's not okay."

Arthur looked like he had been caught red-handed, but he seems to have understood her warning. Sky is off limits.

Unlike Y/N, Bloom spoke up. “Tone it down.”

Trying to laugh it off, Arthur glances at Y/N. “Everybody’s so delicate.”

“No, you were being a royal dick,” Sky states.

“What did you say to me?” Arthur raises his voice ever so slightly as Andreas laughs heartily.

Y/N gives him a pointed look, forcing Arthur to pipe down and this time, everyone seems to have noticed the exchange.

“Don’t talk to my friends like that.” Stella pipes up. “Every comment out of your mouth has been a thinly, or not so thinly, veiled insult. And you’re drunk.”

Perhaps that’s what made it so easy to enter his mind.

“Your mum was right. You’ve changed. A shame, considering you really wanted that gem out.” Arthur stands up, marching away from the table as Stella looks down at her hands in her lap, too embarrassed by his behavior to face anyone.

“You can still have the gem taken out”, Y/N whispers to her.

Shaking her head, Stella sighs. “Not like that.”

Looking at Rosalind whispering with Bloom, Y/N focuses on their conversation. She doesn’t have to hear them speak as most people think about what they’ll say moments before they speak the words in existence. It takes no effort to harness those thoughts, drifting from them so easily. No one guards the thoughts they’ll speak openly.

“He’s an absolute prick, but I need him.”

“For the vote?”

“This room is full of people who want to see me fail. I'm cryptic because every move I make has to be bulletproof or they will pounce.

“They all love you”, Bloom states.

“Nobody really loves the powerful ones. You'll learn that soon enough, just as your friend Y/N did.” Exhaling sharply, Rosalind smiles. “Luckily, fear works too.”

“Yeah, you have a knack for it.” Bloom remarks.

“I have to have a little fun. But there’s one thing you need to know is true. You are my star pupil, Bloom. Transforming, taking down the Burned ones, that’s just the beginning of your story. A story I’m lucky to witness.”

Scoffing, Bloom glances at Y/N, nearly catching her in the act. “You and I both know I’m the star pupil because the other contestant isn’t willing to play your games.”

“And yet, you will be the one to shape the Otherworld and I’ll be on your side. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have cryptic business to attend to.”

Rosalind leaves, Andreas following her closely. Sky lets out a loud exhale as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding faintly, he rests his arm on the back of Y/N’s chair. “Are you?”

Pursing her lips, she tries to keep a smile at bay but it’s nearly impossible. “You’re with me. What more can I ask for?”

The phone vibrates again, but not just Y/N’s this time. Sharing a quick look with Bloom and Stella, her eyes shift to Sky.

“They’ve done it.”

Bloom and Stella rush to meet the girls, only Stella pausing. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Give me a second.”

Inhaling sharply, she takes Sky’s hands in hers. “I’ll never force you to a fancy dinner again.”

“Was this dinner not a part of the gala?” Sky’s eyes widen slightly.

Feigning innocence, she smiles. “Maybe not?”

Lips parting, his eyes narrow at her. “You’re lucky I love you”, Sky grins. He reaches over, taking her hand, his thumb stroking the back of it gently.

Feeling a flutter in her stomach at his touch, Y/N can feel her cheeks darkening. They both lean in simultaneously, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. Her heart skips a beat as his arms wrap around her, pulling her closer.

Resting his forehead on hers for a moment longer, their lips part. Neither move, their eyes remaining closed in this silent declaration of love they share for each other.

Finally pulling away, Y/N can see the adoration in Sky’s eyes. What she’s done to deserve it is beyond her, but she’s grateful.

“What do you think the girls found?” Sky asks, but Y/N shrugs.

“I don’t know. However, Bloom and Rosalind are far too comfortable with each other for me to trust them. I think she knows I would never cooperate with her, so she’s focused on Bloom fully.”

“Bloom’s capable of making her own choices.”

“Is she?” Y/N questions. “Her previous choices were all disasters. For all of us.”

Licking his lips, Sky sighs. “Let’s hope this time will be better.”

Frowning at her phone as it vibrates once more, Y/N takes a quick look at the messages only to realize she’s already missed a lot.

“Stella’s trying to vote Rosalind out.”

Standing, Sky helps Y/N to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Arriving a little late, Y/N and Sky sneak inside and stand to the side.

“After torturing him in her lab, after stealing his magic, Rosalind let that student die in her office.” Stella’s claim left everyone in shock, muttering loudly. “Devin deserved better. Solaria deserves better.”

Rosalind walks in, her head held high. I hate to break protocol, but there may be a few minor inconsistencies with Her Highness's theory.”

And right from behind her, a student walks in.

“Devin!” Stella gasps.

“About a month ago, my friend Mayor Quinn called me. Two fairies, recently released from their studies at Alfea, went missing in Blackbridge. They were found days later, catatonic. Bitten. I offered my help. But until we found answers, he swore me to secrecy. He didn't want to cause panic.”

Taking Sky’s hand in hers for support, Y/N ignored his eyes upon her.

“I have to admit, I was stumped until I borrowed a text from the Royal Archives, with Arthur's permission. In it, I found an ancient creature called a scraper, a native of The Realm of Darkness. It feeds on magic. I realized that's what had happened to those poor fairies.”

Rolling in a large tank, Rosalind pulls the cloth covering it.

“What the hell is that”, Y/N whispers, her eyes wide. Y/N stands frozen, her eyes still locked on the creature. It is unlike anything she has ever seen before, with a slimy, scaly exterior and rows of jagged teeth that gleam in the dim light.

As she watches, the creature stirs, its eyes blinking open and fixing on Y/N. She feels the weight of its gaze, and a shiver runs down her spine.

Taking a step back, she is unsure of what to do. The students are gasping as the creature chitters.

The creature moves again, its body shifting in the tank, and Y/N can see the power and strength that lie beneath its slimy exterior. She knows that this creature is dangerous, and she is terrified of what it might do.

A low, guttural growl emanates from the tank, and Y/N takes another step back, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She tries to keep her wits about her, but the fear is overwhelming.

“I've been studying a scraper here at the school since we captured it. It wasn't until Devin was found that I got the answers I needed. I was able to bring him back from near death. All thanks to Benjamin Harvey's daughter, who discovered an amalgam that was able to revive all three fairies. I probed their minds and the picture became clear. The scrapers were being called upon by a Blood Witch.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N allows Sky to pull her into his side. Wrapping an arm around his middle, she lets out a shuddered breath.

“Our old foes have discovered how to steal our magic. If Blood Witches continue using scrapers, fairy magic, therefore fairies, will cease to exist. Clearly, despite my efforts to keep my investigation secret, some of you sensed danger and took action.”

Glancing at the girls, Rosalind then turned her attention to Y/N as she spoke. “Your courage will be needed in the coming days, as we face our real enemy.”

She expects her to take part in this fight. Rosalind’s intentions are clear – she couldn’t control Y/N before, but this will allow her to certainly try. As the moments tick by, the tension in the room mounts.

Y/N doesn't know what will happen next, but she knows she is in deep trouble. The creature's eyes continue to bore into her, and she braces herself for whatever comes next.

“Thank you for joining us here. Students, for now, you are dismissed.”

Y/N didn’t have to be told twice. She bolted out the door, dodging the girls expertly as she ran to the lake.

Sky followed her. Y/N can sense him near and for once, she doesn’t get the urge to push him away. She wants him closer.

“Blood witches?!” Y/N shouts, running a hand through her hair. Pacing, she shakes her head. “I don’t know how to stop hurting people around me and she’s going to try to weaponize that!”

Grabbing her by the shoulders, Sky stops her. “I won’t let anyone force you into anything.”

“That’s the thing!” Y/N chuckles dryly. “She won’t have to force me, I’ll feel obligated to help the fairies.”

Cupping her cheek, Sky presses a kiss upon her forehead. “Breathe”, he reminds her. “Breathe.”

Y/N can feel the weight of expectations that are surely to fall on her shoulders to stop the scapers and Blood witches. She is not ready for this. Her own powers are still not fully under control, and the thought of using her unstable magic as a weapon terrifies her. Y/N’s powers are unpredictable, and the consequences of using them could be disastrous.

Y/N bites her lip, her mind racing. She wants to help, and she wants to be brave, but the fear is too much to bear. If she loses control of her magic, it can go terribly wrong, and innocent lives could be at stake.

“I don’t want to do it”, she whispers. “I wish everyone would leave me alone.”

“I know”, his voice is soft as are his hands running up and down her back. “We’ll figure it out, love.”

Shrugging off his jacket, he wraps it around her shoulders and pulls her close.

“But you need rest tonight.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep after this”, her bottom lip quivers.

“I can help with that”, he teases, eliciting a quiet chortle.

Walking toward the dorms, Sky knows she can feel his worry too. Amid all the chaos in both their heads, Sky can feel the weight of his own worries and fears. He can see Y/N struggling, and he feels helpless.

He doesn't know how to help her or if he can protect her from the dangers that lay ahead. The creature is unlike anything he had ever seen before, and the thought of Y/N facing it is a nightmare waiting to come to life.

Sky’s meant to be her specialist, her sworn protector, yet he doesn’t know how to help save her from creatures that he’s never encountered before. It won’t send him running scared, he cares not for himself, only for her.

No matter what, Sky will protect her. No cost is too great if it means she gets to walk away from this fight unscathed.

PART 10

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